Operation Overlord
by ShadowLordCC
Summary: Destiel: On June 6 1944, American soldiers arrive on the shores of Normandy. Among them, landing at Omaha Beach, Captain Dean Winchester and Private Castiel Novak, who isn't what you would call excited to be there.
1. Training

Cas had always wanted to travel. He'd wanted to see the world and meet new people, but he had never for a second thought that he would find himself in England under these circumstances. He had never thought that he would fight in a war… but that's what happened. His name had been pulled out of that hat and he'd been drafted in to serve in the war that he had been so desperate to stay out of.

He'd been shipped off to be part of the 29th infantry division and he hadn't had any choice in the matter. The first few weeks had been nearly impossible to get through. He hadn't known anything about anything and the hours were ridiculous. Cas found himself starting to drift off at the most inappropriate of times due to lack of sleep. Eventually, he had grown used to things and had even started making a few friends.  
It was a little while before Cas officially met the captain of his company.

Captain Dean Winchester was tall, muscular, with hair cut short and slicked back, and full lips that seemed to be permanently pursed. He had one strand of brown hair that was longer than the rest and had an annoying habit of dangling down and sticking into his eye. Dean didn't act like the other captains. He didn't act quite so serious and he seemed to be determined to keep spirits up. He had found Castiel having what appeared to be a panic attack and had helped him out.

Cas sank to the ground, resting his head back against the wall behind him. "I can't do this…"

"Of course you can," Dean said in a fake and cheerful voice. "I'm Dean, by the way. I know you probably already knew that, but I like introducing myself personally… Captain Dean Winchester." He held out his hand.

"Private Castiel Novak," Cas whispered and grabbed hold of the man's hand and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet before he shook the hand in greeting. "We've been training for over a year now, and I don't think we'll ever be ready."

"Well, you certainly won't be. Not with an attitude like that!" He clapped Cas on the shoulder and held out a flask.

Cas took it hesitantly. "Thanks…"

"No problem. I rely on that stuff to stop me going out of my mind," he rubbed at his forehead, took the flask back and spun around, wandering off slowly. "We're going to win, Castiel."

* * *

After two years of training, they had finally piled onto the boat, tapping feet and chewing lips nervously. Even Dean, who had always seemed like such a calm person, was sitting down, bouncing his knee and holding onto his flask for dear life. It was the first time that they'd really stopped to think about where they were going.

They were going to France, which up until that point had still managed to sound exciting. Then they got ready to go, and suddenly the prospect of stepping foot on a strange beach in Normandy wasn't so appealing any more.

"We have nothing to worry about," Dean was saying to himself as Cas walked over.

"You said it yourself. We're going to win," Cas sat down next to the other man.

Dean nodded to himself silently.

"Who do you have waiting for you back home?"

Dean looked up, green eyes flashing in the sunlight. "Just my Dad and my little brother Sam. They're all that I've got. I have to come home for them," Dean took a deep breath and let it out in a huff, leaning back and looking up at the sky. "What about you?"

"Just my parents, Sir."

"Don't call me that… I haven't done anything to deserve that title yet so… just call me Dean." He ran his tongue over his teeth and got up to stare down at the water beneath them.

* * *

For days now, it had seemed as though they weren't going to go ahead with it. The clouds that had been previously hanging ominously over their heads, had floated down into thick fog that blocked out everything they should have been seeing.

Castiel could feel the boat beneath his feet shifting on the water. There was no wind, only the mist and Cas could feel his clothes slowly growing damp. He turned his head to watch as the other men talked as though nothing was going on. Castiel couldn't act like that. He couldn't just pretend that they weren't about to do this. He couldn't block out his thoughts and his fears long enough to keep a conversation going. He crossed his fingers and prayed that the weather wouldn't give up and the attack would be called off.

"You're scared."

Castiel turned to see Dean standing there with his lips pursed and his arms folded in front of his chest. "I'm not scared, I'm just… impatient."

Captain Winchester smiled slightly, eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's okay to be scared. I'd even go so far as to say that it's good for you." He licked his bottom lip and shifted his gaze to the man next him.

Cas stared down at his hands. "Fear leads to hasty decisions and mistakes."

Dean let out a deep breath and nodded in agreement. "Well, if this weather doesn't improve, then I guess there'll be no chance to make those mistakes."

"Sir!" One of the other men (someone who Cas vaguely remembered had been nicknamed 'Stitch' for some strange reason) pushed his way through the crowds of men and gave Dean a lazy salute. "I've been instructed to inform you that the weather is supposed to clear up tomorrow, so the attack will be going ahead."

"Tomorrow?" For a second, Dean's bravado slipped and a spark of fear showed itself in his eye.

"Yes, Sir…" Stitch nodded and turned away again, making his way through the masses of men in uniform.

Castiel looked down at his own uniform. He couldn't help but wonder if they should all be wearing more protection. The thick green-brown material didn't seem like adequate clothing to be wearing in a battle. "I'm not ready…"

Dean's face was set into one of confidence and the fear in his eyes had gone. "Yes you are," he stared at Cas directly in the eyes and patted him on the shoulder before he went off to prepare himself.

* * *

The beach was only just visible. Not only was it far away, but the fog was still refusing to lift.

Cas' stomach churned and he adjusted the way his helmet sat on his head. He was only half listening to Dean who was shouting instructions at the crowd in front of him, going over the plan and making certain everyone knew what they were doing. Cas chewed on his lip and tried to pay more attention. He could feel his knowledge of the battle to come slipping away. He tugged on his shirt and glanced down at the blue and grey patch that was stitched into his shoulder, reminding himself of something very important. He was part of something. He belonged on the battlefield alongside all of these other men. He was Private Castiel Novak of the 29th Infantry division, the Blue and Grey. He was exactly where he was supposed to be.

"If you lose faith out there, find your reason to return home and hold onto it. You all have something, I know you do. Whether it's family, or love, or even if it's fixing that old creaking fence in your backyard, hold onto it with everything you've got. Don't give up. As long as you have a reason to go home, you have that possibility," Dean nodded and his eyes flickered to Castiel. He smiled and gave the tiniest salute.

Cas found himself smiling back, though he hadn't really deserved Dean's smile in the first place. He concentrated on the way Dean's lips pulled back from his teeth, the way his eyes sparkled and crinkled at the corners, anything to keep his mind off of what he was about to do.

Then Dean raised a fist into the air. "29, LET'S GO!" His voice boomed out and there wasn't a single person on that boat who didn't hear those words, clear as day.

Cas' stomach flipped and his head spun. He did what Dean had said and focussed on his parents. They would be so proud of him when he returned home. Well, they'd be proud of him even if he didn't return home, but that wasn't what Castiel was supposed to be thinking of._Focus on family_, he thought to himself and remembered his mother kissing him goodbye as he'd reluctantly swung a bag over his shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut and pictured his parent' faces. Cas promised himself that he would not lose faith. He promised himself that he would get through this alive. God wouldn't let him die.

"29, let's go!"

* * *

**Note: **This was a request from someone on deviantART and I have to admit, it was very difficult. I have to do a butt-load of research even for this one chapter and I'm not certain if I got everything right, so please let me know if there's something wrong that is easily fixable. ^_^


	2. Operation Neptune

They could all see it now. Every single person on every single boat had their eyes fixed on Omaha beach.

Dean picked up the weapon that was sitting in front of him and pushed it into Castiel's arms. "Are you religious, Cas?"

Cas took the shotgun and stared down at it as he nodded.

Dean put a hand on his shoulder. "Pray for all of us, would you?"

Castiel nodded again. "Always…" The gun in his hands was a Winchester. He looked from it to Dean and smiled slightly, taking a calming breath. He blocked out the shouts and focussed on the only reason he hadn't turned tail and ran for it. When he finally let the world back in, everything was in uproar.

It all happened at once. They started making their way off the boats, feet splashing in the water. That's when things started happening.

Cas knew that Stitch was dead as soon as the small, thin man crashed into him, sending him into the water. Castiel pushed the body off of him and tried his best not to look into those lifeless eyes. He was frozen, every joint and muscle was stuck in its place. Then a hand was in the back of his shirt and pulling him to his feet again. He was stumbling forward as loud bangs and the sound of gunfire blocked out absolutely everything else. He felt heat on his face but the only thing he could think of was moving forward. He had to get out of the water. Screams echoed around him as his friends fell to the ground. A loud explosion and more gunfire put to rest an entire boat of men. All of those people… gone in under an hour.

"Move! Move!" Dean roared.

Cas lifted his gun and started firing. His hands were so shaky and he was scared that he was going to hit one of their own, but he dodged around the huge spiky anti-tank mechanisms that stuck out of the ground and… he hit someone, right in the shoulder. His breath caught in his throat and he turned, not wanting to see the young man falling. They were all young, really. When Cas looked at their faces, he saw teenagers, young boys who were clearly terrified. Cas watched the rest of the beach, feet locked in place as he watched blood slowly seeping into the ground.

Then something smashed into him and he was squished into the ground as another something went sailing over his head.

"We need to get out of here!" Dean shouted and rolled off of Cas, grabbing hold of the man's shirt and started to pull him up. "We need to go!"

Cas stood and started to do as he was instructed. He tripped and fell, facing grazing painfully along the sand as the shotgun skidded away from him. He pushed himself up immediately and reached out for the weapon. His helmet tipped in front of his eyes and he struggled to adjust it. He felt a weight on his back as someone fell on top of him. It briefly crossed his mind that he could just stay where he was and pretend to be dead until everything was over, but he decided against it. He pushed off from the ground and sprinted for the closest place he could hide. Castiel felt wind rushing in his ear and loud zipping noises as he narrowly avoided bullets that had come flying his way. A man in front of him went up in a ball of flame as he stood on a land mine and Cas was sent flying backwards, landing back on the ground. He needed to stay on his feet. He needed to keep running.

Dean was grabbing his arm and pulling him up and to the side. "Stay focussed!" he roared, barely audible over the rest of the sounds that were jamming themselves into Castiel's ears. Dean had been running beside him the whole time, stopping to shout at as many of the others as he could.

Cas nodded and looked up. He could see that some of the other men were racing up to higher ground. Some of them didn't make it, and even those guys, Cas thought, probably had a better chance of making it than he did. He wasn't particularly fast. He'd barely scraped through physical examinations and the gun felt alien in his hands. He wasn't a killer. His hands shook and his finger refused to behave as he aimed the shotgun and pulled the trigger.

Dean's hand was still curled into the rough, thick material of Castiel's shirt as they started running.

Hours, it took them, before the even got close to leaving for safety.

Cas' eyes were fixed on where he was going. He could hear dean's gun going off behind him, leaving a dull ringing in his ear. Then he fell. At first he didn't realised what had happened. Then there was a white hot pain in his side and he couldn't breathe. He couldn't see, he couldn't hear anything but his own laboured breathing. The rest of the world might as well have not existed. He'd been shot. That was the only explanation for it.

"Cas?! Castiel?!" Dean's voice was quiet and muffled and Cas wasn't sure if it was even real.

The only thing he knew was real was the intense burn that was blocking everything out. All he could see was white and spots. He heard himself gasp and he felt sand getting into his ear, but he couldn't do anything about it. He felt so weak, so drained that he couldn't move a muscle. He could feel the sand scraping along his face and a tugging sensation in his arm.

Dean was pulling him, dragging him somewhere safer. Dean bent down and bit his lip as he looked back to the fighting. Then he grabbed hold of Cas and lifted him up, struggling to keep hold of the man as he hauled out of the fray.

Cas could only just make out Dean's shape, standing over him. He could only just feel the hands as they prodded at his side, causing the pain to stab at his brain again. "Leave… me…" he managed to choke out.

"No way. It's only a graze, you'll be fine. A little rest and you'll be up and fighting." Dean was tearing off some sort of bandage thing and pressing it to Cas' wound. "Just a scratch…"

Cas tried to sit up, but he could hardly twitch a finger, let alone use his stomach muscles. He groaned and shut his eyes.

They had all crowded into the one place, setting up a small area to treat the wounded. From this place, they could all see the beach. They could see every single one of the men that had fallen and they were hidden from the German army's view. To minimize their losses, they didn't send everyone out at once, and if someone got injured and could be brought back safely, that's what they would do; otherwise, the wounded would just have to stay and hope for the best.

Cas had managed to pull himself up and onto his feet. He was panting heavily and sweating and blood was seeping from the gash in his side, but he was standing.

Dean was pacing, glancing nervously down at the beach. He wondered how many other people had clambered to safety. He wondered how many men hadn't even made it out of the water.

Cas limped over to him. "It's not over yet… you know, if we could get around the back of those bunkers… That'd be something." There was a long pause between every few words as he had to stop and catch his breath.

Dean turned to face Castiel. "That's a good idea. I think some of the others were thinking of that already. We're still going to win this, you know." Dean smiled and rested a hand on Cas' shoulder.

They were heading back down, weapons in hands, eyes wide and hearts pounding.

They'd been walking for a while when Dean stopped in front of them and turned on Cas. "Go. Back," he whispered furiously.

Cas shook his head stubbornly. "It's only a graze, like you said. It's fine."

Dean readjusted his stance. "You will only hold us down. You're weak. Go back."

"No."

"Castiel, I am ordering you to go back. Right now."

Cas was about to say no again when another gunshot sounded closer by than the others.

Dean dropped to the ground.

For a moment Cas thought that Dean had merely ducked, but he looked down and saw blood. Castiel lifted his gun and tried to find the person who'd shot.

Whoever it was, they shot again because suddenly, Castiel's leg was on fire and he was trying to stay standing, but it wasn't working for him. He looked down to see Dean's face, pale and still and Cas' leg gave out and he fell, his elbow slamming into Dean as he fell. The shouting over-head continued and Cas just couldn't move. The pain in his side came back and it was all just too much.

"Winchester's dead!"

That was the last thing he heard before the explosion, the blast of heat and the ringing in his ears pushed out the world.


	3. Medical Attention

When Cas woke up, he was in a tent, lying on an uncomfortable bed that probably folded up.  
The sunlight turned orange as it seeped in through the canvas walls. He could tell that it was some sort of first aid tent. Cas' leg was still burning, but he could think around the pain now. He heard voices, French accents and French words echoing in from outside the tent. Castiel rubbed at his eyes and looked down at his leg. It was covered in bandages and propped up on a pile of pillows. He glanced around at the men lying in the other beds, noting their wounds and trying to figure out if he knew them. His eyes settled on one man in particular.

Dean's face was drained of colour and he lying perfectly still apart from the rise and fall of his chest. He was breathing. He was alive and he was being looked after.

Castiel sighed in relief and tried to push himself up into a sitting position. Pain shot through him as the graze in his side got stretched and warped by the moving muscle. He winced, but refused to lie back down.

A French woman with black hair pulled back into a tight bun on the top of her head bustled in, waving her arms frantically in an attempt to get Cas lying back down.

Cas shook his head. "No, I want to sit up. I'm not tired, I don't need to rest."

The woman continued to wave her hands about. She didn't understand him.

Another woman entered then and said something in French before smiling and coming over to Cas. "I'm sorry. She only speaks French," the young woman said softly, placing a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "Please, lie down. You don't want to make your wound worse, do you?" The young lady was English, with blonde hair that refused to stay tied up and blue eyes that were nearly brighter than Castiel's.

"Where am I?" Cas asked as he sank back down onto the bed.

"Bayeux. Tent hospital," she replied as she started inspecting the bandages on his leg.

Cas winced and shut his eyes. He wanted to ask something, but he wasn't sure what. He bit down on his lip as he tried to remember. Cas could hear other people shuffling around the tent, and the other men moaning. He remembered what he was going to ask just as pain pot up his left side.

The young woman whispered a sorry as she dabbed something onto the bullet wound.

Castiel opened his eyes and made a face. "What's going to happen to us?

"Us?"

"Me and Captain Winchester," he gestured to Dean, but refused to look at him.

"Oh. Well, there was a bit of a mix up, you see. So you're getting transported back to England with the others…" She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and smiled sweetly. "There they will give you as much medical attention as they can. We have limited supplies here, but both you and your captain are stable enough to travel." She reapplied the bandages on Cas' leg, inspected the wound in his side and cleaned out the gash before standing and going to attend some of the other patients. She turned to smile at Castiel before she crouched down to talk to a boy who must have only just turned eighteen.

Cas side and tried to get comfortable on his solid, fold out bed, but everything hurt too much and he gave up.

The ground underneath him was moving and tossing the contents of his stomach around in an uncomfortable way. He didn't remember passing out, but he must have, because when he opened his eyes, he was definitely not in a tent any more. How long had he been unconscious? It must have been a while… Castiel felt light headed and the shirt he was wearing was suffocating him as if it were made out of lead. He just wanted to rip it off and breathe properly, but his arms were stuck by his sides. His leg and stomach were bandaged up so tightly that he could felt like his blood circulation was being cut off and he must have still been losing blood, because he was feeling very light headed. The floor rocked again and he wasn't sure if he was going to throw up what little food was in his stomach. Was he on a boat? Was that boat taking him to England? He didn't belong there. That isn't where he wanted to be. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to see his parents and actually talk to them.

The past few years they'd been communicating through letters and postcards. It was hardly a good substitute for actually talking to them.

"Where am I?" he found himself asking the women who were bustling around in the dimly lit room, crammed full of other beds and equipment.

"You're on a boat, Sir," said the one closest to him. "We had to strap you down to make sure you didn't get tossed out of bed."

Cas nodded and closed his eyes. He wondered how the fighting was going. Had they secured the beachhead? He'd hardly seen any of the fighting. He felt bad, like he'd deserted the other men. He should still have been there, down in the trenches with his friends, but he wasn't. Instead, he was lying down, on his way to somewhere safe, and that didn't seem fair. He hated to think how Dean was going to feel… if he ever woke up.

"Try to sleep, Sir. The journey will speed right by," the same woman put a hand on Castiel's shoulder.

Cas nodded and tried to doze off, but he couldn't, so he settled for merely thinking about things with his eyes closed.

He did manage to sleep though he hadn't meant to. He woke up and drifted off a few times during the long journey, but he couldn't stay awake long as his wounds were still seeping blood and they were burning and his head was aching from all the rocking about. He dreamt a lot. They were nightmares, all about Omaha, about the explosions and the still faces of those men who had died right in front of him. He dreamt of what the others would have been doing at that moment. He dreamt that they were losing. Cas would wake up shivering and sweating and feeling awful, and his eyes would refuse to stay open for any longer that two minutes before he sank back into another dream.

"Where's Dean?" he mumbled as he dragged himself out of the nightmare world. "Is Dean okay?"

"Captain Winchester? He'll be fine with the right medical attention. Go back to sleep," whispered one of the kind voices.

Cas sighed and shook his head. "I don't want to…" but it was too late. He didn't have the energy to stay awake. He was hungry and his leg had gone numb while his side was still burning. His ears were ringing and he was just so completely exhausted that he couldn't keep the dreams at bay.

The next time he opened his eyes and actually bothered to look around and register what was going on, he was feeling somewhat better. The ground had stopped rocking, the bandages had been loosened off and he felt… just better in general. He was in a hospital. He could hear coughs and sneezes and groaning, but his bed was softer and he was safe. Cas couldn't see very much of the room he was in. Curtains were drawn around him and his vision was a little fuzzy, which was to be expected after how long he'd been sleeping. He cleared his throat and rubbed at his eyes. His arms were free of all straps, but they were heavy and weak.

The curtains were pulled back slightly and a young nurse walked in. She didn't say anything as she inspected Castiel's wounds and shined a little light in his eyes. Then just as it seemed she was about to leave, she turned to him. "I'm glad to see you're awake. You'll be moved soon because your wounds are not as serious as some others, and we need all the beds we can get."

"Where will I be moved to?" his voice was quiet and a bit croaky.

"I'm not sure. You will have to find a place to live here for a while I should think. Or possibly just stay in a hotel. I'm not really sure, sorry," she smiled and pulled back the curtains all the way, letting in some light before leaving the ward.

The light stung at Castiel's eyes as it poured in. It didn't feel safe. Part of him was afraid that an enemy would see him and he would be shot again. The memory of bright, flaming explosions and pale, still, bloodied faces filled his mind and Cas pushed himself upright so that he was leaning against the cushions, panting and squeezing his eyes shut, wishing the light and the memories to go away.

"Cas?"

Castiel looked up. He recognised the face staring back at his from over the other side of the room, but he wouldn't have known by the voice.

Dean Winchester was pale and looked like he was just clinging on to life. His mouth twitched up and the corners and he blinked slowly. "It's nice to see someone I know," he said. His voice was quivery and quiet and it cracked as he forced the words out.

"Didn't you know I was here?"

"The last thing I remember... is you… refusing to leave and… claiming that your wound… was fine… what happened?"

"I got shot in the leg," Cas shrugged.

Dean raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything. He was so out of breath and his mind was all fuzzy with pain. His chest was covered with bandages. He'd been shot in the chest, though obviously the bullet had missed his heart.

"What are we going to do, Dean? We don't belong in this country…"

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm planning on leaving this hospital as soon as I can…" his eyes drooped shut and his breathing evened out as he fell asleep.

Cas didn't want to sleep. He'd slept so much, and it wouldn't help anything. He couldn't see Dean's face very clearly from the other side of the room, but he watched it anyway. He found himself wondering what the man was dreaming about. Cas hoped that Dean would get better. He prayed for him. He prayed for both of them. He prayed for the men that were still fighting their way through Omaha beach. He prayed for his parents and that he would get to see them soon. He shut his eyes and he prayed, hoping that someone was listening to him. Something in him doubted that he was being heard. If his prayers were heard, how could this have happened? How could so many men have been killed before they'd even made it onto the sand? Cas had Dean to thank for making it onto the beach, not God. If Dean hadn't pulled him to his feet, he would have stayed there, frozen and staring at little Stitch until something had killed him. Still, he prayed and he hoped and as he did so, he took his bad memories and locked them away in a small corner of his mind. Then he could breathe. The weight that had been pressing down on his chest lifted and the only pain he could feel was in his leg.


	4. Pain

Cas was sitting on the hospital bed that had been his. It wasn't his anymore. He was supposed to leave. They needed all the room they could get, and with a little assistance from a cane, Castiel was fully functioning. The thought of relying on a walking stick to keep him upright made him feel like an old man and he hated that feeling. He was in his twenties! He shouldn't feel like that.

"You lucky bastard," Dean grumbled and his eyes opened. Dean was stuck there for God knows how much longer and it was going to drive him insane. All Dean wanted was a room to himself and a comfortable bed with no one hanging around to fuss over him. He'd made it very clear that he despised hospitals. They smelt like chemicals and death and he wanted nothing more than to breathe fresh air.

Cas sighed and took hold of the shining wooden stick next to him. "Yeah…. We're both lucky though, aren't we?" his voice was quiet and he didn't really believe what he was saying. Were they really that lucky? Was being stuck with aching wounds and awful memories really better than going out with a fight?

Dean half tried to manoeuvre himself into a sitting position, but soon gave up. He huffed in frustration and scratched at his forehead. "Do you think I could convince these guys to let me out early if I find someone to look after me?" His eyes lit up as the idea had obviously just crossed his mind.

Cas ran a hand along the wood of his walking stick. His hand ran over a patch and he jerked his hand away, sucking at the spot where the small piece of wood had jammed itself under his skin. "It's worth a shot… who would you get?" He lifted his eyes to look at Dean. It was strange how one look into those green eyes could slow the frantic beating of Castiel's heart. It wasn't something he dwelled on for more than a few seconds though. Perhaps it was merely because Cas had thought Dean was dead and he still felt relieved whenever he looked up and saw that Dean was okay.

Dean shrugged. "I don't know anyone here."

Cas bit down on his lip. "Either do I." He put the stick on the floor and used it to pull himself to his feet. His leg burned and he thought that maybe the stick wasn't enough to keep him standing. They didn't know anyone. Cas wasn't even certain where in England they were. It was probably London, but he hadn't exactly bothered to ask. It was America, it wasn't home and that's the only fact that mattered to either of the men.

"How do you feel?"

"Stable enough… I guess that's why they're in a hurry to get rid of me," he smiled slightly in an attempt to lighten the mood, but there wasn't really any point. He walked around for a bit, trying to get his leg working properly, but the bullet had done quite a bit of damage and the muscles wouldn't respond as they normally did.

"Are you ready to go?" The nurse he'd come to know as Bela was staring at him expectantly.

Cas took a deep breath and looked up at her. "Look, my friend here, he doesn't hates hospitals."

"I hate them," Dean chimed in.

Cas nodded. "If there was some way he could leave, that would be great. If he can't live alone then he can stay with me and I can look after his wounds if you tell me what to do."

"Please," Dean flashed a smile and Cas narrowed his eyes as he watched Bela's reaction.

Bela bit her lip. "I'm not sure if I can allow you to do that... I'll be back in a minute," she nodded to the men and rushed from the room.

Cas shrugged at Dean and winced as the healing wound in his leg started aching. "The place I got is pretty small, but there's room enough for another bed to be set up someplace," he mumbled and collapsed back down onto the solid bed that had been his.

"I just hope I'm allowed to leave…"

Bela came back after a few minutes, tugging and a strand of hair that was hanging in front of her face. "So, it looks like both of you can go," she smiled and placed her hands on her hips.

Cas waited around and listened to around three different people spurting instructions at him. He would have to change the dressing on Dean's chest.

Dean had tried to argue and explain that he could do it himself, but no one would allow it. He gave up after a while and let himself be helped into a wheelchair. He was in obvious pain. Not only was there a huge scar on his chest, but there were still yellowing bruises covering his from head to toe and his hair was oily and the shadows under his eyes were only getting darker.

Cas struggled to his feet once again and hobbled out of the ward for the last time. He glanced down at his clothes. Well, they weren't his really, as his were stuck back home or tucked away in someplace for holding. The clothes were knew and stiff and he just wanted to be in a pair of pants that needed ironing and a shirt that didn't constrict his movements. Cas watched Dean and wished that he could help. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt. It was his fault that Dean had been shot. He hadn't gone back. He'd refused to do as Dean asked and now Dean was in pain.

The walls were dark grey, there was barely any furniture in the place and the windows were tiny, letting in very little light. The kitchen was cramped, with ugly mustard coloured cupboards and a tiny fold out table that they could eat at. There was one small, scratchy brown couch facing a blank wall that just so happened to be a lighter shade of grey to the rest of the place. There was a double bed with grey and blue sheets crammed into the bedroom. There was one large, full length mirror handing of a wall and a small bedside table with a lamp and a lock sitting on it.

"You can take the bed," Dean mumbled as Cas stuffed the warn out mattress into the small gap between the bed and the wall.

"No. Your injuries are worse than mine. I'll sleep on the mattress," Cas finally got it lying flat and sighed as his leg threatened to crumple underneath him and the chunk taken out of his side started to sting painfully. He lowered himself onto the bed and stared at the blank, bleak, grey wall opposite him.

Dean hoisted himself up and out of the wheelchair, claiming that it didn't really help the pain. He grimaced as he staggered over to sit next to Castiel. "Why us, Cas? Why did we survive?"

Cas shrugged and rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

"We should be dead. Well, me, anyway… Why did they bother to get us out of there? Why us? There were so many other people… more important people. Why are we alive?" Dean took a visibly shaky breath and put a hand to the bullet wound.

Cas watched him out of the corner of his eye. He wished that there was something he could say to make it better, but he had been thinking the same things himself and had no comforting words. "You should get some rest."

"We've had enough rest to last a life time," Dean muttered. He pushed back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

Cas bit his lip. He felt his stomach flip nervously and he ran a hand through his hair. "Do I need to… change the bandages?" he asked quietly, cheeks turning ever so slightly pink.

"No they're fine. Tomorrow, though I still don't understand why I can't do it myself,' Dean was never going to give up on that one. "Hey, Castiel? You don't snore, do you?" Dean grinned, his tongue running along his bottom lip as pushed back the covers. "I don't sleep well with noises."

"I don't know. No one's ever told me… maybe you can let me know in the morning?" Cas smiled and took a strangely shaky breath.

Dean chuckled and rested his head back on the pile of pillows. He'd made a sort of pillow tower behind his head.

"I'll leave you to get changed," Cas said and hurried from the room. The walls had started closing in on him. He needed air. He needed space. He just wanted to see his parents and sleep in his own bed, but that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. Cas dragged out the stiff pair of brand new pyjamas. He'd never really liked wearing striped and these pyjamas were blue and white. They'd be warm though and that's all that really mattered. He pulled them on and splashed water on his face, stopping to look out one of the windows. He couldn't see very much in the darkness, just huge shadowy shapes looming over him.  
When he limped back into the bedroom having left his walking stick leaning against a wall, Dean was asleep.

Dean's face wasn't peaceful though. His features were all screwed up and he was tossing and turning. His breathing wasn't even either and his pyjama shirt was hanging open, showing the bandages that had the smallest amounts of blood seeping through them.

Cas sighed as he lowered himself down onto the thin mattress. It hurt. The muscles screamed at him, but he finally managed to collapse rather painfully on the bed. The blanket he dragged over the top of him was scratchy, but warm.

Dean's hand flopped over the side of the bed as he tossed restlessly in his sleep and a little whimper echoed around the small room. He'd rolled onto his front, which probably wasn't best for the healing wound in his chest. He started snoring softly and his fingers brushed against Cas' nose.

Cas smiled, scratched at his nose, reached up absent-mindedly and gave Dean's hand a comforting squeeze. He held on and heard Dean's whimpers stop. He didn't want to imagine what Dean was dreaming of right now. If it was anything compared to the nightmares he'd been having, Dean wasn't actually getting much rest behind his closed eyelids.

He might have been dreaming about guns and explosions and death, or maybe he was dreaming about his family… or perhaps about Castiel, though that was ridiculous. Dean wouldn't dream about a man who he didn't even really know. What was even more strange than the thought of Dean dreaming about Cas, was the fact that Castiel actually felt a bit disappointed when he realised that Dean dreaming of him would be impossible.

Cas shut his eyes and half tried to push Dean's hand back onto the bed, but he merely succeeded in getting a finger in his eye. He rolled over so that Dean's fingers were tickling at the back of his head and he tried to ignore it. He listened to Dean's breathing as he tried to sleep. It seemed to take forever and he was uncertain as to what nightmarish reality he was about to enter, but eventually, he started forgetting what he was thinking about and drifting off into a dream world.

* * *

**Note: **This part would have been done quicker and would possibly have been a bit longer, but I haven't been feeling my best recently and have therefore lacked motivation. Anyway, I guess it isn't too short and it may not have seemed like a long wait to you, but it did to me...


	5. Never Going to End

Cas woke up sore from sleeping on the thin mattress and his leg protested as he tried to clamber to his feet. His muscles were stiff and it took his a good four tries before he managed to stand upright and even then he'd had to catch himself with the bed before he'd crashed to the floor again.

Dean had been staring at him with a hopeless look on his face, still buried under the blankets that he'd offered to share with Castiel. "Good morning," he muttered.

Castiel huffed and wiped at his forehead. "That was much more difficult than I anticipated."

Dean chuckled, but didn't smile. It wasn't the sort of day that made someone want to grin.

As Castiel made his way out into the living room, he glanced out the window. It was a gloomy day. It was rain lightly and the sky was clouded over.

Dean spent another hour lying awake in the bed before he decided to join Cas.

After a small, uneventful breakfast and a very short discussion about how much nicer the food tasted than what they were used to, they both decided to just stay inside and flick through the few books that sat in the one bookshelf. They were thickly coated with dust and when they were pulled from the shelf, both Castiel and Dean started sneezing.

Dean had tried to get up out of the wheelchair and walk around a bit, but he'd endlessly complained that his muscles were aching and that he was short of breath, so Cas had made him sit down again.

Cas had spent a great deal of time searching for a piece of paper and something to write with, but the apartment didn't seem to be stocked with anything apart from food.

"What do you want paper for?" Dean asked, voice low and grumpy.

Cas rested heavily on his stick. "I was thinking I'd write a letter home… I think my parents deserve to hear from me." He winced and slowly lowered himself onto the couch. "Don't you want to write home?"

Dean licked at his bottom lip and shook his head. "I don't want my dad to know that I'm not fighting any more…"

"He probably already knows…"

"Yeah, but if I write to him then I'm admitting it." Dean shut his eyes and took a deep breath, grimacing and placing a hand against his chest as he let out a cough. He was obviously still in pain.

Cas nodded though he didn't really understand and inspected a few of the cuts on his hands. They were small and irritating, like paper cuts. "Well, if you change your mind, I'm going to get some things tomorrow…" He stared sideways at Dean and wondered what he was thinking about. Castiel wished that he could get right inside Dean's head and understand his thoughts, but he'd just have to settle for asking and trying to understand Dean's explanations.

Cas was determined to bring Dean outside with him. He'd promised the nurses and doctors that he would look after the other man and Castiel didn't like breaking his promises. He wasn't going to let Dean stay home alone. It took him a while to actually leave the apartment, he spent a few minutes just staring at the closed door and taking deep breaths.

Dean rolled backwards and forwards, still getting used to the movement of his chair. He didn't want to go. He was content staying indoors and staring out at the world through small windows.

Cas eventually left and pushed Dean from behind to get him going.

Cas limped down the street with Dean rolling along next to him, face set into a frown. Both of them looked so miserable and pathetic that people parted to let them through, which was just as well, because Cas was feeling particularly jumpy. Loud bangs and clashes made him jump, shouts made his skin crawl and when people bumped into him, he flinched. His teeth were on edge.

Dean stopped in the middle of the footpath and just stared blankly ahead. "Hey, Cas?" He asked quietly.

Castiel stopped and leaned on the walking stick. He raised his eyebrows questioningly, heart thudding away loudly.

"Do you want to go back inside? We have enough supplies to last a while and I think we've had enough outside for a few weeks," his voice was shaky, his eyes were wide and he had a frightened little smile plastered on his face.

Cas nodded. He knew exactly what Dean meant. They'd been outside for just long enough to collect some writing supplies and already both men were sweating and they just wanted to be inside. So they went back to the apartment and back into that grey collection of small rooms. Cas locked the door and hobbled over to the solid couch, collapsing and sighing with relief. People… he didn't really like them right now. Every time he turned a corner he found himself tensing and wondering if he would see someone with a gun. He was afraid that loud noises would wake him and he would find himself lying in the sand, bleeding out, safety having been but a dream.

Dean picked at the peeling paint on the arms of the wheelchair angrily. "This is never going to end, is it?"

Cas took a deep breath. "I don't know…"

They spent the rest of their days stumbling and wheeling around the apartment, cooking meals from whatever was in the pantry and just sitting and talking about absolutely useless things.

"Tell me about your family," Cas said when the quiet had become too much for him.

Dean ran a hand over his face. "Well, my mother died when I was a kid, so my dad brought me and Sam up. He uh… he was a bit of a drunk so I actually had to look after Sammy a lot of the time… Sam," Dean smiled and chuckled lightly. "Sam's a pain in the ass!"

Cas smiled and listened as Dean told him some of the more entertaining stories of his childhood. It all sounded fantastic. "I never really had a family like that… Well, I mean, I have a lot of brothers really, but they're all much older than me and I don't see them often," Castiel hardly knew his brothers, though he wished that he did. He looked over at Dean. "I've probably got to change those bandages now," he mumbled.

Dean muttered and wheeled his way into the bedroom. "I can do it myself, you know. "

"Yeah, I know, but I'm supposed to," Cas said, following behind. He wanted to do it. It gave him some purpose, made him feel like he was stuck in this country for a reason. Because Dean wasn't strong enough to go home and Cas liked to think that he was only staying to take care of him.

Dean stood on shaky legs for a second as he lifted himself onto the bed. He grumbled as he propped himself up on the pillow tower.

Cas rolled his eyes and watched as Dean begrudgingly unbuttoned his shirt. He sat down on the edge of the bed and twisted so the he could pull the bandages away slowly. It felt kind of like he was peeling off a layer of skin as it clung stubbornly to the dried blood. The wound shouldn't still have been bleeding, but it wasn't the end of the world and it just meant that Castiel would have to clean it. He took the small cloth out of the bowl of warm water and dabbed at the healing wound. Cas could feel Dean's eyes on him as he wiped the blood away.

"How does it look?" Dean asked quietly.

Cas put the cloth down and picked up the fresh bandages. "Like a bullet tore through your flesh and narrowly missed your heart," he said and rested his hand on Dean's chest to hold down one side of the bandage. He could feel the strong thudding of Dean's heart and he smiled. Slowly, he covered up the bullet wound, pulling the bandages tight. He went to pull away, but Dean caught his wrists.

"I'm glad I met you," he whispered and smiled, slowly pulling Cas forwards.

Cas felt heat rising to his cheeks and half tried to pull away. "I'm glad you were my captain," he gave Dean a fleeting smile, nodded and then pulled back, taking back his hands and turning his face away. He took a deep breath and mentally smacked himself for being so silly around Dean. His heart had picked up pace and his stomach was flipping nervously. _It's Dean, it's only Dean…_he told himself and poked absent-mindedly at a bruise on his knee as he tried not to notice that Dean was staring at him curiously.

Dean pushed himself up, wincing and panting. He put a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "Thank you," He said. "How are yours?"

Cas lifted up his shirt at the side and pulled back the gauze that he'd put on over the graze that morning. Blood was already visible. The wound hadn't been deep enough to stitch up so he just had to wait for it to scab over. He covered it back up and went to roll up his pants. He heard Dean suck in a breath as he pulled back the bandages to expose the raw, red flesh beneath. He hurried to clean it up, wincing and sweating under his breath and the bullet wound stung painfully. He sat back up and started down at his hands. "If I'd just done what you'd asked, we wouldn't be here," he muttered.

Dean jerked Cas around to face him. "No. Don't do that yourself. It could have happened anyway. It was not your fault, Castiel!"

Cas couldn't look Dean in the eyes. "Yes. It was."

"We were fighting in a war. People get hurt and die."

Cas felt Dean's grip on his shoulder tighten and he reached up to brush it away.

Dean held onto the hand, wrapping his fingers around Castiel's wrist. "Promise me you won't think like that…"

Cas smiled sadly and nodded, though he knew he couldn't help it, it was just the way he thought. "Yes captain." He got to his feet, using the walking stick that had been leaning against the wall to help him. He looked down at his leg. _It will get better,_he promised himself as he reached back down to pick up the bowl of water and the bandages. "Maybe you can do it next time," he mum bled.

Dean shrugged. "I don't mind… You're probably better at it than me."

Cas could hear the smile in the other man's voice as he limped out of the room, feeling strange. Not bad strange and not good strange… just strange. He sat down at the small table and started scribbling a letter to his parents and another to the only one of his brothers he really got along with. He used up almost all of the paper he'd bought and left the letters sitting on the table. He'd deliver them another day, when he was feeling a bit better. Cas sighed and looked towards the bedroom. The door was still hanging open and Cas could just see Dean on the bed.

Dean was staring at nothing. His eyes were glazed over a tear was trailing down his cheek. He wiped at the tear angrily and balled his hands into fists at his side. He rested his head back to face the ceiling and shut his eyes.

Cas watched Dean and hoped that he would get some rest. God knows they both needed i

t.


	6. It Was an Accident

Over the next few weeks, they slowly spent more and more time outside, walking down to the large park and just sitting there became one of their favourite things to do apart from reading through the dusty books in the apartment.

Cas would often watch Dean out the corner of his eyes, analysing his facial expressions and the defeated slump in his shoulders, trying to determine just how unhappy he was. He came to the conclusion that it was bad, and decided never to leave Dean alone.

They had a nurse come around and check on things a few times and she shook her head with a frown on her face whenever she remembered that Castiel was looking after Dean. She would mumble to herself things like, "it isn't right, two men living like this," and "he should be in proper care."

The men ignored her grumbles and reassured her that everything was quite fine.

That was one great, big, fat lie. They had very little money and neither of them could be bothered looking for jobs., which wasn't exactly helping their situation.

"I can't do much! I'm nothing but a cripple!" Dean would grumble, eyebrows knitting together. "Weren't you a police officer?" Dean muttered as he rammed his chair into a wall.

Cas reached out from where he sat on the sofa and pulled the chair back, sighing heavily. "I was new at it…"

Dean threw his hands in the air. "Well, why don't you go back!?"

"Not here… not in England.."

"Well, we can't go home without any money," he said, deflating a little bit at the mentioning of home.

Castiel frowned and pushed Dean's chair away again. "I don't want to," he huffed and that was the end of that.

Cas told himself that it was an accident. He promised himself that it was only because they were over-tired as neither of them had been sleeping well. It meant nothing. It couldn't possibly have meant anything. Dean had fallen when he'd tried to walk and Cas' lips had just happened to be right there. Yes, that's what had happened. It was all an accident. "I'm sorry…" Castiel muttered again, putting his head in his hands.

Dean hummed in acknowledgement. He was sitting in his chair, staring out of the small window.

Cas got to his feet and limped into the kitchen. He didn't want to be near Dean because as much as he hated to admit it, he found himself wanting to kiss the man again. He wouldn't, of course… not after seeing the horrified expression on Dean's face when he'd pulled away. From his place in the kitchen, leaning against one of the mustard coloured walls, Cas could hear Dean speaking softly.

"Don't be sorry," Dean was saying. "I just need more practise walking…"

Cas took a deep breath and slid down the wall so that he was sitting on the floor. "Maybe you can use my walking stick next time," he called back.

"But then how will you walk?"

"I'm trying not to use the thing anyway…" Cas shut his eyes as his heart beat slowed and the red of his cheeks faded.

After a moment of silence Dean's voice came floating through again. "We're going to need to get jobs…"

They fell silent again and Castiel hoped to God that he hadn't messed things up. Somewhere along the lines, Dean had become his best friend and if he lost him, he didn't know what he would do. Dean was the only thing that was tying him to the Earth, keeping him from floating away.

Cas didn't know that Dean was sitting in his chair, staring out the window and thinking pretty much the same thing, though unlike Cas, he wasn't worrying about what the other man thought. Dean was worrying about what he had thought of that stupid kiss. Dean felt like his world was crashing down around him. The fact that the kiss had been _nice_, that he'd _enjoyed_it, horrified him.

If Cas had known this, he certainly would have felt better about himself. He pushed himself to his feet, struggling and leaning heavily on his stick. He limped back out into the living room and collapsed on the couch once again. "I'm sorry."

"Quit apologising!" Dean snapped, though he didn't mean to.

Castiel sighed and bit down on his lip to stop himself saying sorry again. He announced that he was going to go out and left the apartment. That's where we're going to leave him for now, worried and shocked and a little bit shaken.

Dean couldn't shut them out. The voices in his head were screaming at him, asking for orders, screaming for help. Dean had been in charge. He'd been responsible for them. He was meant to have been there until the end. Now, every time he closed his eyes he could see them in the sand and the mud. Dying. Dean wasn't sure what was worse, thinking that they would al die without him there, or thinking that they might be better off without him leading them.

Dean was constantly feeling short of breath and was endlessly frustrated with his legs. They were working fine. He could move them. He hadn't hurt them and yet they would not hold him up. It was all to do with the bullet that had nearly killed him. Dean sometimes found himself wishing that it had hit his heart and stopped any of this from happening. The only thing that kept him from trying to end it all, was Castiel. Dean wouldn't do that to him, not after Cas had been trying so desperately to make things okay.

Cas wore a fake smile and tried to sound cheery, though his deep voice made it hard to do so.

Dean could see through it all. He could tell that Cas was as miserable and frightened as he was, but he didn't care because the man was trying, and that was enough for Dean.  
Dean watched Castiel go and started picking at the threads on his chair. Everything was ruined, he could tell. Just the thought of Castiel changing the bandages on his chest made his cheeks burn, he couldn't bear to think what it would actually be like with the man's hands touching him. It would be wrong. It would _feel_wrong. Worse than that was the pleasant tingling in his lips and his stomach at the memory of the kiss. If Cas knew what he was thinking and feeling, he would surely leave and never come back. Then the nurses and doctors would drag Dean back into hospital and any chance of getting his life back would slip through his fingers. Dean rocked backwards and forwards in his chair, shutting his eyes and trying not to let the screams and cries of pain take over. He sucked in shaky breaths and refused to let himself replay what had just happened in his mind.

Cas suggested that Dean should try walking. "You have to get out of that chair sometime…"

Dean had nodded and slowly pushed himself to his feet. He'd taken one step. Then another and his heart was thudding painfully in his chest. Then the bullet wound had started burning and his legs had gave way.

Castiel had been spotting him the whole time and when Dean had fallen, he'd caught him.

Dean could remember it clearly. He remember tripping and being caught and Cas' lips had been right there and it had just happened. Dean had closed his eyes and stayed perfectly still, breathing in Cas' scent and making a note of the feeling of the other man's lips pressed against his, until he'd been pushed away. Then the shock of what happened had caught up with him and he'd felt a terrified look freeze on his face.

Castiel had let him go immediately and just stared, sadness, anger, fear and a strange sort of happiness flashed across his face one after the other as he'd turned and stumbled over to the sofa. He'd left Dean to wobble on his feet and take baby steps backwards so that he could lower himself into his chair.

Dean grimaced as the scene played over and over and he just wanted to bury his face in a cushion, or run away and never come back. Then there was the thought of home. Dean knew he was being a coward, but he didn't think he would ever be able to face his father after this. Giving up. Giving in to injuries that his dad would assure him were 'minimal'. And Sam? Sam would not look at his older brother and see a hero, injured while fighting and being forced home. Sam would be disappointed. When Dean had left, years and years and years ago, he'd promised Sammy that he would come back having led his company to victory, with medals and all sorts of other trophies. Dean huffed and pulled back his shirt to look down at the bandages. The only sign that he ever fought, was an ugly hole in his chest that kept him sitting in a chair. He was a useless cripple. What could possibly be worse than being stuck in a chair because you stopped to shout at someone? Knowing that the someone you shouted at was hurt too. Worse still, Dean believed that if he'd been less soft on his men, if he'd given more orders and had shouted at Cas just a bit earlier on, the other man wouldn't have been injured like that.

To add onto the pile of things that was making Dean unhappy, he wasn't in his own clothes. He wanted to go out and buy a nice black coat, a fedora and the right shirt, but he couldn't do it. He was just as bad as Castiel when it came to jumping at sounds and tensing when rounding corners, it just wasn't as obvious as he was sitting in a wheelchair.

The list of things that was making Dean miserable and comfortable was endless. The only thing he had in his life that made it bearable, was Castiel and Dean was very seriously wondering if that whole friendship was going down the plug hole.

Dean sat by the small window, watching the people bustling about in the streets below and wondered whether any of them felt as bad as him. He wondered if they were avoiding going home or if any of them had troubles with their friends. He couldn't tell, of course. It is not often that you can guess how someone is feeling on the inside. The happiest man on the planet might be the ugly homeless man you avoid whenever you leave your house and the most miserable person, may in fact be the person who seems to have everything.

* * *

I know, I know... I took AGES to spew this chapter out... but the Internet has been so much more distracting and entertaining than I'm used to... Anyway, here it is. I'm rather happy with this part. :3 Enjoy.


	7. Comfort

At some point in the afternoon, after an insubstantial meal made up of whatever he could reach in the pantry, Dean hauled himself out of his chair and into his bed. It was far too big for just one person, but there was no one he could share it with. Well, there was one person, but the thought of having Castiel so close to him made his skin crawl in confusing ways. Dean tried to sleep, and he tried to block out the screaming and the gunshots. He tried to block out everything and actually managed it. He found himself floating in a totally calm and quiet space that was so beautiful and perfect that Dean dared not breathe too heavily in fear of breaking it. When Cas trudged back in and the door slammed shut, the peace shattered. The door shut with a bang like a shotgun and Dean jolted in surprise and fear, flipping off the bed and instinctively reaching for something to shield him.

"Dean?" Cas asked warily, having heard the thud of Dean hitting the floor.

Dean shut his eyes and crumpled against the wall, panting and trying to calm down. The wound in his chest was stinging. It was almost unbearable and it turned his legs to jelly. "In here!" he gasped as loudly as he could with what little breath he had. He was in pain. His head was spinning and when he looked down, he saw red soaking through his white shirt. He'd torn it back open, popped his stitches.

Castiel rushed to Dean's aid immediately, the tiniest of blushes present. He took hold of Dean, and wrapping an arm around him, lifted the man onto the bed.

Dean shivered and cursed inwardly at the tingling sensation in his stomach. He focussed on Cas' hands and they tore at the shirt, ripping it open and peeling back the bandages. Dean sucked in a sharp breath and took hold of Cas' arm.

Castiel stared down at him, wide eyed, mouthing hanging open ever so slightly. "We should get you to a hospital," he murmured, resting a hand on Dean's chest.

Dean covered Cas' hand with his own. He could feel blood seeping between their fingers. "No. Please. You do what you can… and then whatever happens, happens."

Cas shook his head. "I don't know how to fix this…"

Dean fixed his eyes on Castiel's, giving his hand a gentle squeeze and mentally slapping himself for feeling so God damn excited about the contact. "Luckily, I do. I'll… talk you through it." He grimaced and found his fingers hooking with Cas'. Dean proceeded to tell Cas what he would need. A needle, something to stitch the wound closed and a few other things, mostly to stop infection.

Cas seemed so panicked that it was almost cute. He scampered from the room, staring down at the blood on his hands as he did so.

Dean sighed and let his eyes droop shut. He wasn't entirely sure that Cas would be able to fix the torn hole in his chest, but Dean was so glad that he wasn't being forced back into a hospital. He hated the chemical smell and the smell of death and sickness. He hated the depressing, dying people there and he felt weak whenever he was in one. It was a place to go when you had no other options and Dean always tried to think of more options. There's always an alternative.

Cas came back and knelt on the bed beside Dean, panting and shaking with a look of complete and utter fear on his face.

"Calm down, Cas… You've got this."

Cas nodded and set about following Dean's muttered, pained instructions.

Dean watched the hands that pressed to his skin and he winced and put a hand on Cas' knee to steady himself. Dean stared at the hands, studying their tremble, the callouses and the scars. They were beautiful hands really, all smooth, elegant lines with tiny scars that merely added character.

Finally, Cas rested back and glanced up at Dean, a breathless smile on his face. "That's it," he sighed.

Dean grinned and pushed himself up on the pillows. He looked down at the newly patched up wound before staring up at the bright blue of Cas' eyes. He didn't realise what he was doing what he was doing until he had pulled Castiel forwards and they were kissing. When he did realise, pulled back and bit at his lip and mumbled a thank you, watching Cas carefully. He'd messed it up. _I've ruined everything_. Then, before he could apologise, or ask Cas to leave him, the other man had a hand wrapped around his neck and was pressing his lips to Dean's.

Dean choked back a surprised and strangled noise and hooked his fingers into the front of Cas' shirt. He didn't even mind how good the kiss felt. He didn't care. He was hurt; he should be allowed some happiness, even if it wasn't conventional. He would have been quite happy to stay like that for ages, but he couldn't hide the flinch when Castiel's hand touched the edges of his bandages.

Cas pulled back, gasping for air with eyes half closed. He placed a hand on Dean's stomach as he sat back. "I'll leave you to rest," he whispered before planting a kiss on Dean's forehead and staggering out of the bedroom.

Dean licked his lips and smiled. He still wanted to punch himself for feeling so good, but at the same time, he just wanted to give Cas a hug. It was confusing and annoying. Dean shut his eyes drifted off into a sleep more or less absent of screams and dying. It was the first time he'd slept peacefully since he'd left to help train the new troops. He woke when there was a knocking on the door. Not the bedroom door, which had been left hanging wide open, but the front door. Dean lifted himself up a bit, ignoring the pain in his chest and peered out to watch what happened.

Cas got to his feet, limping slowly without his stick to hold him up. He opened the door slowly as well, gazing suspiciously at the person on the other side before opening it fully.

Dean watched as Cas signed a piece of paper and got handed a large box. "Cas?" he called out curiously. "What is it?"

Cas shoved the box closer to the bedroom and opened it, shrugged before rummaging through the contents. "Suitcases… Hey, this one's mine," he smiled up at Dean as he pulled one of the suitcases out.

Dean pushed himself up. Perhaps his things would be in there. He would give anything to be in his own, comfortable clothes. The first thing he wanted to find was the shirt that Sam had burnt a hole through with a cigarette. "Is mine in there?" he asked hopefully.

Cas made a 'hmmm' sound and dug around in the box again. He pulled out a soft black back and another large suitcase, sitting it on the bed.

That was it. Dean grinned and managed to sit up properly, reaching out to pull the case closer to him. He popped it open and sighed in relief, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders that he hadn't even realised was there. He lifted out his favourite shirt with the burn, his favourite comfortable pants and… yes, there was his hat, slightly crumpled, but still. Dean shrugged off his shirt, noting how Cas turned away and smiled to himself. He tugged on the shirt with the burn and buttoned it up, remembering the soft material and grinning.

Cas looked up and smiled. "It's got a hole in it."

"I did notice that. Sammy's fault." Dean emptied out the contents of the suitcase and sighed. "Hey, Cas? I don't suppose you can help me?" he blushed and licked at his lips.  
Castiel froze, staring at Dean with a look of alarm.

"Relax," Dean said, rolling his eyes. He slipped off the bed, taking a few moments to gain his balance. He kicked off his current pants and changed them over, nearly falling flat on his face in the process and having to lean on Castiel, who hadn't let his side. Finally, he was back in his own clothes. They were soft and crinkled and they smelt right, if a bit musty. He smiled at himself and glanced up at Cas, wondering what he thought.

Cas was staring, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. He looked like a lost little puppy dog. He stood up so that he was eye to eye with Dean. Well, he would have been if he hadn't been just that little bit shorter.

"What do you think?" Dean asked quietly, looking at Cas through half closed eyes.

Cas nodded slowly and rested his hand against Dean's cheek lightly.

Dean sighed and closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. He shuffled closer to Castiel, wobbling slightly but not falling. He opened his eyes and stared into the endless blue of Cas'. "What are we doing, Cas?" he asked wearily.

Cas moved his hand to the beck of Dean's head, stroking his fingers through the hair that desperately needed a cut. "Right now? Right now I'm kissing you," he murmured and pulled Dean's head down.

Dean allowed himself to be pulled forwards and made only the tiniest attempt at resisting. "You know what I mean," he muttered when he was let go a bit, placing his hands on Castiel's hips.

Cas pulled back further. "Do you care?

Dean thought it over. Did he care that Cas was his best friend? Nope. It just meant that they already got along… Did he care that Cas was a guy? A little bit, but not enough to push Cas away… He shrugged.

Cas licked his lips and smiled, giving Dean a gentle nudge so that he fell back on the bed.

Dean rolled his yes. "Thanks, Cas. Take advantage of the cripple."

"You're not a cripple, Dean. You're healing."

Dean frowned. At least Castiel could walk. At least he wasn't stuck in a chair. At least he hadn't just torn open the hole in his chest. "If you keep telling me that, maybe one day I'll believe it."

Cas just shook his head with a smile and reached into his own suitcase. He pulled out a big, tan trench coat and grinned.

Dean peered at it curiously as he poked at the burn in his shirt. It was just before the cuff of his left sleeve, golden and brown and black surrounding the hole. He'd been so angry when Sam had done it. Sam didn't even smoke! It had been a few years ago and Dean was always surprised when the shirt still fit him.

Cas shrugged the coat on and wandered out, presumably to look in the mirror.

Dean whistled appreciatively when Cas came back. The coat really suited him, though it was a bit too big and didn't sit properly on his shoulders. "What other treasures have you got in there?" he asked, gesturing to Castiel's bags.

They spent the rest of the day eating food that wasn't particularly good nice and inspecting a few of the things Cas had. There were some big, dusty old books, a little jewellery box with an extremely detailed and swirly ring inside and a small, empty frame that was obviously meant for a photograph or a painting or something else like that. It didn't need a picture in it though, as Cas pointed out, it was quite an interesting and beautiful frame by itself. It was handcrafted and had been a birthday present from his parents one year.

At some point after darkness had fallen, they'd both drifted off to sleep. Their legs were tangled together and they were facing each other, merely inches away. One of Cas' arms was draped around Dean's waist.

Dean woke up when the hand that had been resting on his hip moved. He moaned quietly and when he blinked his eyes open, his breath caught in his throat. The pair of eyes staring back at him were bright blue. Too blue. Impossibly blue. The small amount of light that filtered into the room through the open door lit Cas' eyes spectacularly, almost making them glow. _How does that colour even exist!?_ he asked himself just as Cas shifted himself so that he was closer and pressed his lips to Dean's. Dean sighed and kissed him back, rolling over to press him into the pillows. He didn't care that his mind was screaming at him. _What are you doing? You're ruining everything! This isn't right. Stop!_When he pulled back, he stayed hovering over the other man. "It's not fair," he murmured.

"What's not fair?"

Dean smiled and brushed Cas' hair from his face. "You. You shouldn't be able to do this to me, Cas."

Castiel licked his lips as his cheeks went scarlet. "I'm sorry."

Dean snorted lightly and shook his head, hair falling forwards over his face. "Don't apologise. I don't exactly mind it." He fell sideways to lie next to him again.

Cas shuffled forwards and hugged Dean tightly.

_Comfort, Dean. That's all he wants._ Dean shut his eyes and bit his lip. He knew deep down that it was true. Castiel just needed _someone_and Dean was conveniently there.


	8. Routine

Dean lay awake, staring up at the ceiling and not thinking about anything in particular. When did, his thoughts lingered on one thing, it was Castiel. He sighed and shut his eyes. He didn't know why they were doing what they were doing and he knew that if anyone found out… well, it wouldn't be accepted. Those kinds of things hardly ever were. His father would probably never speak to him and Sammy… Dean shuddered to think of how Sam would respond to his brother being like this. Dean put it all down to the war. If he hadn't have been injured, he would never have felt this way and everything would have been alright.  
When Dean finally did manage to sleep, it wasn't for long. He could hear the screaming. He could see the blood soaking into the sand and hear the crackling of a boat gone up in flames. He thought he really was there and he obviously got restless, because when he woke, he was laying half on top of Castiel, who was moaning in pain.

"Dean… Are you okay?" was all Cas asked, blinking at Dean blearily.

Dean leaned down and kissed Cas, though again, his brain was screaming at his to stop it. He rolled over, pulling Cas on top of him and biting gently at his lip.

Castiel shuddered and grinned down at Dean. "Are you sure about this?"

Dean shook his head. "I'm really not, so don't question me too much or I might over think it." Dean buried a hand in Cas' dark, messy hair and looked him in the eye.

Cas pressed a kiss to Dean's bare chest. He trailed the kisses up Dean's neck and along his jaw line as he pulled off his shirt.

Dean sighed and forced the shouting in his mind to go away. _You deserve to be happy, Dean,_he reminded himself. Finally, he just went with it, letting it happen, letting himself be happy. He didn't switch on the worrying again until he was lying twisted in the sheets, staring up at the ceiling, but that didn't matter because Cas was asleep next to him, hugging him like his life depended on it. Dean couldn't go back to sleep, so he just lay awake, stroking his fingers through Castiel's hair and humming softly to himself.

When there was a knocking at the door, Dean elbowed Cas awake and pushed himself up to get dressed.

Castiel moaned sleepily and pulled the sheets up around him. "Five more minutes?"

Dean snorted and tossed a pillow from the bed at the other man's head as he buttoned up his shirt. "Cas, someone's at the door. They can't see us like this," he hissed.

Cas' eyes widened and he sat bolt upright. He nodded and crawled to find decent clothes in the mess of his suitcase.

Dean averted his eyes, blushing lightly and feeling his heart stutter happily in his chest. He smiled and shook his head finding a comb on the small beside table and trying to flatten his hair.

The knock on the door came again.

"One second!" Dean called out. He sighed with relief as he sat down in his chair and wheeled himself out.

"Who do you think it is?" Castiel asked curiously.

Dean didn't care. He wanted them to go away. He'd been relaxed and happy and that one knock had ruined it. Dean grunted as he rolled towards the door and gestured for Cas to open it

"Hello, neighbours!" came a loud, greeting from the man on the other side of the door. "I was just sitting at the table with my wife here, and we both realised that we hadn't welcomed you!" The man had a bright smile, cheerful voice and a nervous look in his eye. He was wearing a dark blue sweater and had his brown hair parted neatly. His wife was small with blond hair tied up into a tight bun, with a small hat sitting in front of it on her head.

Cas glanced at Dean, who made the tiniest movement to shrug.

"So, this is us, welcoming you," the man continued and held out a hand. "My name's Andrew and this is Susan."

Dean bit down on his lip to stop himself from saying something rude and Castiel rolled his eyes.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Cas said, taking the hand that had been offered and shaking it. "I'm Castiel and this is Dean." He held out a hand to Dean who rolled away with the biggest scowl on his face.

Andrew raised an eyebrow and leaned forwards. "Is he okay?" he asked quietly.

Dean heard that and turned back around as Cas snorted into a fit of laughter. "Am I okay? What do you think?" he snapped.

"Be nice, Dean."

"I am nice, Castiel." Dean leaned back in his seat and folded his arms. "To people who don't ask stupid questions."

Cas turned back to Andrew and Susan. "I'm sorry, he's a bit… bitter about his whole situation."

Dean snorted. 'Bitter' was an understatement.

Andrew nodded in understanding. "Look, if you boys are in need of a job or just a spot of company, I'll be happy to help you out."

"You can help me get a job?"

"Yes… There's a job going at the green grocers. A friend of mine owns it and I'd be happy to put in a good word for you. It's nothing big and I doubt it will be permanent, but it's something." Andrew raised his eyebrows. "I know how much trouble you fellows must be having…" there was a hint of something more serious and much less happy in Andrew's eye and both Cas and Dean understood. Andrew really did know…

Dean felt himself smiling and glanced up at Cas. "Go on… do it. Should be easy enough."

Castiel chewed at his lip and nodded, getting the details off Andrew and offering something to eat.

Andrew and Susan politely said that they couldn't stay, though they did invite Dean and Castiel to an art gallery the next week.

Dean sighed in relief when the couple left. There were no words that would have explained the awkwardness of not actually having anything to offer them if they'd decided to stay. "Looks like we're making friends," he said softly.

Cas smiled and bent down to press a kiss to Dean's cheek. "What are you supposed to wear to an art gallery?" he asked jokingly and tried to stand back up again.

Dean refused to let the man pull away, holding him there and capturing his lips. He once again had no idea why he was doing it. He'd got it into his mind that Castiel only needed comfort and that he shouldn't encourage it or pretend that it was anything more than it was, but once again he was kissing Cas, and it was meaning a lot.

You know how sometimes you get those weeks that just fly by without you really noticing? You're so busy doing things without really getting the chance to think about them and you're so tired when you get home that you sleep without disturbance and you don't have the energy to do what you desperately want to, and suddenly the week is gone and you don't know where it went. Dean and Cas had a few of those weeks. The weeks were just, not important to them and though the days dragged on and on, the week over all just, disappeared.

Castiel got the job and no matter how much he complained about it, it was money and they were both very relieved, though the job had pretty much come hand in hand with Andrew's friendship and that was something they weren't so happy about.

Andrew and Susan were the sort of people who wouldn't rest, if resting meant leaving Cas and Dean to stew in their own juices. They organised picnics, trips to the art gallery, the museum and other things like that.

Dean hated the outings, but Cas would scowl at him and he would go along with it, forcing a smile. He hated the looks he got from people on the street, the kind smiles and the little children looking at him in awe. Everyone parted for the grumpy man in the wheelchair and Dean just hated it.

In one week, Dean and Castiel were forced into a group of friends that refused to let them be. Any day that Castiel wasn't working, the two of them were forced by one of their new 'friends' to go out somewhere or to invite someone over for dinner. It was the most excruciatingly difficult thing to go through.

Dean would notice Castiel staring at him a lot while Francis or Albert or someone would sit or stand between them. Dean wished he could just reach out and take Cas' hand, but that voice in the back of his head screamed out in horror and he bit down on his lip.

When they finally got some time to themselves in their apartment, they were too exhausted and their old wounds were aching and they barely had energy enough to give each other a hug and curl up in the double bed to sleep.

Their new 'friends' started spending more and more time around the boys and soon, they found themselves getting split up and dragged out to do different things.

Dean couldn't stand it. The only thing that made everyday life bearable was Cas and these people were obviously trying to minimise the time they spent alone together.

After one day where Cas had been at work and Dean had been taken to some marketplace, Dean knew that something was wrong. He'd been interrogated by this lovely lady, asked about Castiel mostly. The questions revolved around their living arrangement and the disapproving tone of her voice scared Dean.

When Cas stumbled in that night, Dean didn't smile at him.

"Cas, I think they know…"

"They can't know."

"Well, they've guessed, then."

Cas smiled softly and stroked Dean's hair back from his forehead. "It's okay, Dean. They don't know and they're not going to."

Dean sighed and nodded, absentmindedly scratching at the bandages that were wound around his chest. He wheeled himself away and turned to see Cas standing there looking kind of lost and confused. _They know. They do. I can't be with him,_he told himself sternly. He turned his back on Cas and went to bed, feeling a sharp stinging in his chest, where the wound should have been healing. He ignored it, curling up under the covers and lying there, not sleeping, just… waiting. Waiting for something to happen. He couldn't stand this awful pattern they'd been dragged into. He was forgetting what day it was and when one week ended and another began.

"Dean," came a quiet voice from the doorway. The owner of the voice clambered onto the bed, making it bounce under his weight. "Dean, it's okay," he murmured and pressed a kiss to Dean's neck.

Dean shivered lightly and rolled onto his back, sitting up to meet Castiel's lips with his own. He cupped Castiel's cheek with his hand as smiled sadly. "I've… I've missed you." He had. It was an itching, painful kind of hole in his chest and he knew that Cas should be filling it. Well, it was either that or the bullet wound that was still bleeding every now and then.

Cas' cheeks went pink and he kissed Dean softly. "I'm right here," he whispered. "I'm right here and we're safe. We're out of the war and I promise that nothing bad is going to happen to you."

"But something bad _is_happening. They're taking you away from me." Dean scowled, voice steady and serious. He wouldn't let it happen. Not now, not ever.

Castiel opened and shut his mouth a few times before settling under the bed covers.

"And you know what? I don't see you doing much to stop them." As soon as the words were out, Dean wished that he could take them back. He'd snapped, he'd been serious and from the look on Cas' face, he could tell that the words hat cut him deep. "Oh God…"

"Where is God, Dean? God's not here. He's not going to help you," Castiel hissed and rolled from the bed again. Limping out of the room as fast as he could and ignoring the fact that his leg almost fell out from underneath him.

Dean watched him leave and lay back, staring up at the ceilings and wishing that slee

p would come and everything would be okay in the morning.


	9. Battle Scars

It was red, pussy, puckered and ugly. Cas saw a glimpse of it as he watched Dean change from the corner of his eye. _It shouldn't be looking like that_, a voice in the back of his mind told him. He tried to push it away. Dean was fine. Dean had survived the bullet wound and he was fine. He had been for ages now. It was almost Christmas (December was just starting) and Cas had hardly spent any time with the man. Not only because he was being forced away, but because he didn't want to. He'd been genuinely hurt by Dean's comment, as if this relationship was just a bit of fun but it wasn't going to go anywhere. Men didn't just kiss other men for fun! That just didn't happen. They certainly didn't… do other things with men. Men and men wasn't really an accepted thing.

On some of his days separated from Dean, he found himself stuck on the listening end of a conversation about how homosexuality was 'disgusting' and 'unnatural'. Every time someone said something like that, he felt a sick feeling in his stomach. He was wrong. He was disgusting. He was unnatural. No matter how seriously he thought that of himself, he couldn't think that about Dean. No matter how much Dean's words had hurt him, he couldn't stay angry forever.

One glimpse of Dean's ugly, torn bullet wound was enough to completely wipe Castiel of all anger. "Dean?" he asked quietly, voice thick with concern.

Dean quickly buttoned up his shirt and walked (yes, he was walking) slowly out of the room, past Castiel. He was feeling a little hurt at having his apologies ignored, but Cas obviously couldn't read his mind and make that better.

Castiel chewed at his lip and limped after him. "Dean, your chest… Why haven't you said anything?"

Dean just turned around to Cas and raised his eyebrows. "Oh, so you're talking to me now?" He winced and tugged on his shirt.

Castiel looked down at the floor, embarrassed. "You should put a bandage over it…"

Dean just glared at Cas without saying a word. He walked slowly over to the couch, sitting down with a sigh and holding out the newspaper so that he could read it.

There was nothing but silence for a while and Cas just stood there, eventually leaning to take hold of his walking stick when his leg started aching. He was worried. He'd finally let Dean take over looking after his wound and he was regretting it. It was infected. He could see that clearly. If Dean would let him touch it, he was certain it would be radiating heat. "Please… let me look at it…"

"No, Cas. It's fine. Why don't you go talk to Andrew or something?"

"I've got work… You know, that thing that keeps us alive?"

Dean nodded once and sighed again.

"I forgive you, you know…" Castiel shrugged on his coat and left.

He couldn't concentrate at work, not that there was much to concentrate on. Stacking fruit and vegetables didn't require much use of the brain. Things with Dean were wrong and Castiel really wanted to fix that, even if it meant shutting himself inside again. The world didn't need him and he didn't need the world. He just needed Dean.

When he came home, Dean was laying spread out, half falling off the couch as he tossed restlessly in his sleep.

Castiel hated seeing him like that. He hated that though they had left, the war was still very much a part of their lives. He watched Dean dreaming for a moment before moving closer. He nudged Dean gently in an attempt to wake him, but when he didn't wake up, he bit at his lip and told himself that Dean would understand. Cas had to look at it. He'd been put in charge of making sure that Dean was okay. He never should have given up looking after the wound. He unbuttoned Dean's shirt without any trouble and exposed the torn, infected flesh. Pressing a hand to it, it was hot. There was no way it could have been comfortable.

Dean snorted awake at the feeling of Castiel's cold hand and lashed out instinctively, hand connecting with Cas' cheek and sending him toppling backwards.

Cas stared at Dean, almost afraid, wincing as he poked at his cheek. "Dean… I'm sorry, I just… Why didn't you tell me?"

Dean looked down at his chest and sighed. "You weren't talking to me. I said a horrible thing to you and I didn't think you'd want to know." Dean winced as he poked the sore, red skin. "The stitches have popped a few times, and I know I should have gone to someone else, but I really didn't want to… so I just did it myself."

Cas' stomach dropped and he stepped forwards. "Dean… I forgive you." Castiel placed a hand against Dean's cheek and gave him a sad smile. It was infected. There was no doubt about that.

Dean looked up at Cas and moved off the couch, wobbling on his feet. "I'm fine. It will heal. Don't worry about it." Dean pressed a soft kiss to Cas' lips hesitantly.

Cas sighed, being gentle as he kissed back, making sure that he didn't touch the infected area. All he wanted was to take Dean to a hospital and at least have him looked at, but Dean would hear none of it. The man was too stubborn and Cas knew that he wouldn't' be able to persuade him. Cas smiled against Dean's lips, stomach settling in a way that it hadn't since Andrew had first knocked on their door. He knew that everything would be alright, that no matter what happened, Dean would always be there and no matter how hard their 'friends' tried to pull them apart, they would not succeed.

Dean shuddered and rubbed at his eyes, yawning and looking back to the couch.

"What were you dreaming about?" Castiel tilted his head to the side, eyeing Dean curiously though he was pretty sure he knew what Dean was dreaming of. War. It was the only thing either of them dreamt about, really. Agonised screams, gunshots, explosions, sand, water and fire were all that filled their minds while they were sleeping. Cas never failed to have a dream about lying there in the sand, leg crumpled beneath him, bodies hitting the ground around him with sickening thumps. Castiel had to concentrate when limping down the street to make sure he didn't jump at the slightest sounds. There had been a few days when he'd been sent home from work early, two stressed out and jumpy to function properly. Most of those times, before Dean had upset him, Cas would curl up in Dean's arms and take deep breaths until the world came back into focus and he was certain that it was all real, that he wasn't still frozen next to poor, dead Stitch.

"I was dreaming about all my friends. They're probably all dead now…" Dean scratched at his head, expression pained. "Do you ever think about that? The war's still raging on and our friends are either dead or dying… we're just stuck here being useless. We aren't even in the right country, for God's sake!" Dean threw his hands in the air.

Cas swallowed a small lump in his throat. It was roughly one week off Christmas and news reports of yet another battle came flooding the newspapers. Surely there was no one he knew fighting there. They'd probably all died in Normandy, on Omaha beach. They'd probably all died as he should have, scared and crying out for their mothers. Cas knew he was supposed to feel lucky, but the only reason he hadn't given up completely was Dean.  
"They can't all be dead," Cas whispered, rubbing a hand over the warm skin around the swelled up wound. The stitches in it were all crooked and knitted the hole together messily. "Dean, do you want me to try fixing it?"

Dean shrugged and stripped his shirt off. "Do you think you can do it?"

Cas didn't say anything, just took Dean's hand and lead him into their bedroom, laying him down on the best before getting some alcohol, a cloth, something to stitch the wound up with and a bowl of warm water. He sat on Dean's lap, forcing him to rest back against his stack of pillows. His tongue stuck out between his lips as his brow furrowed in concentration. He unpicked the messy stitching and tried his best to clean out the jagged hole before sewing it back up and wiping at the sweat on his brow. "I… I don't know if that's going to help…"

Dean shrugged and pulled Castiel into a kiss. "At least you tried. Thank you." Dean let Cas roll away and shut his eyes, sighing at resting as Cas went about putting things back in their place.

Castiel watched Dean closely for the rest of the day, noting his tiredness and the slight winced every time he moved. It was Cas who suggested that Dean start utilising his wheelchair more.

Dean nodded, groaned at he looked at the infernal thing. He played around with his hat in his lap after he'd lowered himself into his chair and got used to wheeling around again.

"Dean, you got better before… you're going to get better again, I promise," Cas said quietly, limping into the kitchen to find them some food. "I'm sure if we manage to get home soon like we were promised, you'll heal up in no time." Cas was obviously trying to stay cheerful and he hoped that it wasn't coming across as a fake cheerfulness. All he really wanted was for Dean to be okay, though deep down, he didn't believe that it was going to happen. Infections were never a good sign. Hopefully it would just go away, heal up and fix itself without Cas having to force Dean into a hospital.

Dean placed his hat on his head and rolled around in circles, tipping his chair onto one wheel as he had a bit of fun with it. "I love you," he mumbled as the wheels squeaked.

Cas barely heard him, but when he did, and he finally figured out what Dean had said, he went scarlet. He opened and closed his mouth a few times in silence as he watched Dean from the kitchen. Then he spun on his heel and hid his face in the pantry, pretending to be choosing between various foods. He came back with a few simple things on a plate and set it on the small table in front of the couch. He picked at the food slowly, still blushing and unable to say a word.

Dean raised an eyebrow as he began eating, but didn't question Castiel's silence.

They had a bit of quiet reading time, during which Cas read the latest letter from his parents and sat there thinking about home. He really just wanted to go home and sleep in his own bed, but Dean was still being stubborn about not facing his father, so Cas would stay with him. He thought about getting Dean to talk about it, convincing him that his father wouldn't care. Dean had been injured and it didn't matter, his dad was probably more upset by the lack of letters from the son that he'd seen march off to war and never heard from.

Dean, of course, would come up with some ridiculous explanation to convince himself that he was doing the right thing. He'd probably say that he wasn't going home until the war was over, or he was dead.

As that thought passed through his head, Cas' stomach flipped and he struggled to his feet, pausing to kiss the top of Dean's head and check his wound before he stumbled off to curl up on the bed, happy that Dean would be able to curl up next to him like nothing was wrong.

* * *

**Note: **I blame my holiday homework for the almost month long gap between updates... That, and lack of motivation. I do hope you haven't all forgotten about this...


	10. Home Sick

When Dean woke, the first thing he did, was check his wound. He'd been worried about it for a while now, but had ignored it, and tried to deal with it himself. He knew that he couldn't, but he decided that having survived the initial bullet wound; an infection would be nothing serious. He rolled over and found himself with his nose buried in Cas' hair. His heart stuttered happily and he instinctively wound an arm around the man's waist, letting out a sigh. His arm twinged as he moved it, and it felt heavier than normal.

Castiel wriggled slightly and made a little moaning sound in recognition of Dean's presence.

Dean cracked his eyes open and glanced at Cas nervously, remembering what he'd said the day before. He'd said he loved him. That was a serious thing, not something to say lightly. If it was true, and even people found out, it could land the two men in a world of trouble. It was indecent. Wrong. Not natural. Dean knew this, but while they were cooped up in a small apartment, far away from any real friends or family, he couldn't be bothered worrying about it.

Castiel hadn't replied. He hadn't said it back and that had sent Dean's stomach churning and his chest aching in a completely different way to the sting of his wound. Cas was supposed to say it back. In fact, if Cas was following what Dean was used to, Cas would have been the one saying it first. Perhaps Castiel was still upset about Dean saying he didn't care. It was possible… people don't just forgive you overnight. Forgiving is a delicate process that involves much more than Dean's simple, worded apologies.

Sure, Cas had told Dean that he was forgiven, but that was just another bunch of words. It didn't necessarily mean something. Words can lie better than actions, and both men had just used words.

Dean kissed the back of Cas' head to see how that would be taken, and he chewed on his lip nervously, teeth tugging at loose, dry bits of skin.

Cas wriggled again before turning to Dean and smiling softly. Slowly, he rolled Dean onto his back and lifted himself up onto his elbows, reaching out and ripping off the bandages mercilessly. He studied the wound for what seemed like ages before he spoke, covering it back up. "It's not pussy anymore…" He still looked half asleep and blinked blearily.

"That's good… right?" Dean raised an eyebrow. Perhaps the infection had gone down over night. That's what he would tell himself, anyway.

"It's still very red and I don't think the infection has gone… we should take you to – "

"No."

"But Dean, you – "

"No." Dean glared at Cas, a look so certain and serious that Castiel would have been a fool to keep fighting. Dean didn't need to hear the rest of Cas' sentence, he knew what was coming. 'We should take you to hospital, or a doctor,' and 'you'd be better off with someone else looking after you.' Dean didn't /want/ anyone else. Cas was his best friend and if Dean was going to die or get sick, he wanted it to be in a bedroom that belonged to him, with Castiel by his side.

Cas shook his head. "Can't we even get someone to look at it?" He sighed heavily and ran his fingers through Dean's growing hair.

"Someone looked at it a few weeks ago," Dean mumbled. "You were out with Andrew so I… I went to the hospital and had them look. This was before the infection signs started and they said I was fine! I didn't stick around for long, but they said I was fine." Dean pushed himself into a sitting position and Cas stopped him, moving to straddle his lap.

"You need to rest."

Dean grinned mischievously and pulled Cas into a kiss. He slowly tugging Cas' shirt up and over his head, moving to press kisses to the man's chest.

"This is not resting," Cas half gasped as he leaned back down to kiss Dean.

"No, but this is more fun." Dean's heart pounded painfully against his chest and his muscle twinged and ached as he stripped off his own pyjama shirt, but he ignored it and pulled has closer, hands sliding down to play with the waistband of his pants.

"Dean…" Cas said warningly. "Are you sure…?"

"Of course I'm sure," Dean breathing into the man's ear, murmuring, "I love you," before nipping playfully at his earlobe and tugging the man's pyjamas down.

Cas shuddered and stayed quiet, but Dean ignored that too.

"You said I need to rest and relax, right? Let's relax _my_ way."

It was Christmas Eve. Dean sat on the couch, staring at the small, pathetic excuse for a Christmas tree, with a small cluster of parcels beneath it. Dean couldn't help but wonder who they were for. Dean himself had only put two little parcels under there for Castiel, so the others were a mystery to him. He hoped that they weren't expecting anyone else around for Christmas. They hadn't even bothered putting up any decorations apart from the tree.

There was sound echoing in from the streets, filtering through the windows. There were shrieks of delight, angry shouts and a whole lot of laughing.

Dean tried not to imagine what other people were doing, but images of happy families and healthy people forced their way into his head and he couldn't get them out. He did miss his family. He missed his little brother, and his father, and he hoped they weren't too lonely without him. It was times like these when Dean found himself wanting to go home. He knew that Cas wanted nothing more than to get back and see his parents, but Dean refused. It was only days like this, when he started feeling stick at the thought of everyone else being happy with their families, that Dean wanted to go back.

Cas had snuck up behind the man, who was staring off into space. He had a Christmas hat in his hand and after a few moments of standing behind Dean, he sat it on the man's head.

Dean jumped slightly at the contact and twisted around to look up, wincing and letting out a small pained gasp at the pain in his chest. Though it had stopped leaking puss, it was more painful than it had been the previous week He tried to mask his grimace with a smile and adjusted the hat on his head, reaching up and pulling Castiel onto his lap. "Aren't you going to go to sleep, Private?"

"I could ask the same thing of you, Captain." Cas grinned, tugging Dean's hat down over his eyes.

Dean shook his head. "I don't want to have a nightmare on Christmas Eve. I trust that you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Dean smiled softly and bumped his nose with Cas'. The war was still on. This war seemed as though it would never end. To Dean, it seemed like both sides would just fight and fight until every able bodied man had died for nothing, lying dead in the mud with nothing to show for it. Dean spent a lot of time pouring over the newspapers, looking for names that he recognised, trying to find the lists of the dead. He kept track of the battles, the death toll, the new tactics being employed and other such things. Often, he would get caught tutting or shaking his head and something he was certain wasn't worth the risk, or wasn't going to work at all.

Cas snapped his fingers in front of Dean to pull him back into the present, and out of the fighting. He moved to sit up, staying on Dean's lap, arms wound around his neck, holding him close. "Stay with me," he said softly, kissing Dean's neck before hiding his face.

Dean sighed and shut his eyes, winding his arms loosely around his… Were they lovers? Was that the word Dean was supposed to use? Dean didn't like that word. It sounded too… forbidden, and reminded him all too much of what others would think of his relationship. "I'm right here, as always."

Castiel nodded, playing with the back of Dean's hair, the bit poking out from under the hat. He hand slid to tug absent-mindedly at the man's braces.

Dean gently pushed Cas off to sit next to him, and got to his feet, pacing over to the window. He didn't like too much cuddly stuff. He could handle a bit, but too much made Dean afraid that people were going to walk in. For some reason, he didn't worry about that when they had sex. It was like, no one would dare interrupt them, but if they were just cuddling, then the whole world would suddenly want to walk through their door, and then they'd be in trouble.

Cas watched Dean curiously, picking up the fedora from beside him and setting it on his knees, brushing it free of dust.

Dean turned around.

Underneath the Christmas hat, Cas had his hair combed back in a way that he never had it. It usually just hung in front of his face in strange almost-curls. Castiel was wearing his usual combination of white shirt, black pants with vague grey pinstripes, and he'd just stripped himself of his neat, matching jacket.

"You're all dressed up," Dean noted, referring to the neatness.

Castiel shrugged. "It's Christmas," he said, voice sounding kind of distracted as he focused intently on Dean's hat. "I wanted it to be special…."

"It's not Christmas yet…"

Cas looked out the window, then as an echo of 'merry Christmas' wafted in, he grinned. "It is now."

Dean sighed and lifted himself off the couch and into his chair, staring out the window and into the streets below, wet with cold rain. "Merry Christmas, Castiel," he said quietly, and heard uneven footsteps coming up behind him. A kiss was placed on his cheek and fingers stroked through his hair soothingly.

"Do you want to open your presents?"

"There's more than one?"

"Of course." Cas rolled Dean around to face the tree and reached for a small, thin envelope.

Dean took it and turned it over in his hands curiously before opening it.

_Son,_

We have been informed that you are now residing at this address, and I hope this letter finds its way to you. I wished to let you know that we are very proud of you. Sammy's standing behind me and making sure that I write the right sort of thing, but this isn't just what he thinks.

Your brother misses you, I miss you, and we are so proud of all that you have done for our country, and for us.

I hope that one day you will come home to see us again.

Merry Christmas.

PS. Sam wants me to ask you if you have any character building scars.

The letter was signed with his father's squiggly signature and Dean held onto it, staring at the words for much longer than was necessary. "Cas… did you tell them?" he asked quietly.

"I may have dropped a hint or two." Cas reached for a small silver box and handed it over to Dean. "They sent it along with this."

Dean opened the box. Inside, was a small book, filled with photographs of his mother when she was alive, along with the few family portraits they had, a picture of their run down house, and lots of empty space to put things in. Dean felt himself smiling and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand, homesickness hitting him like a brick.

The rest of the presents for him were just simple things, a new had from Andrew and Susan, and from Cas, a small pendant. Dean didn't feel right. He couldn't fully appreciate his gifts, but he stuck on a smile and kissed Cas a thank you anyway.

Castiel opened his gift from Dean, tearing into the paper and smiling at the belt that was looped up inside the box. It was obviously more expensive than Cas thought they could afford.

Dean smiled and winced as he moved in a weird way. He felt short of breath then, and was left panting. He moved his arm experimentally and sighed as the pain settled itself below his rib cage.

"You okay?" Cas asked quietly, frowning in concern.

Dean hated that he worried the man so much, so he just nodded and pushed the pan away. He was going backwards. He was getting worse when he should have been getting better. "Merry Christmas, Cas…"

"Merry Christmas," Castiel murmured back, but his eyebrows remained pinched together and his nose remained scrunched up in thought.


	11. Something's Wrong

New year's eve was quiet. It wasn't full of excitement and loud sounds out in the street. Mostly it was just Dean and Cas sitting on their couch reading. Cas was reading over an article in the newspaper about the war.  
"I thought it would be over by now," he murmured.

Dean shrugged and winced, chest heaving as he sucked in a breath. He was finding it increasingly difficult to move and breathe, but he didn't talk to Cas about it. He had a few bleeding rashes on his arms and legs, but didn't want to worry him, and cause that little crease to appear between the man's eyebrows.

Castiel got to his feet and moved to stare out the window. It was raining as usual. The streets were shining, but empty, and though a group could be heard screaming in one of the neighbouring apartments, no one was out.

Dean sighed, shutting his eyes. "People will never stop fighting, Cas," he mumbled. He'd hoped the war would be over, but the fact that innocent people were still marching off to get killed hardly surprised him. As long as there's something to fight about, people would fight, even if the reason was stupid. He took a laboured breath and folded his arms over his chest. "Can we go home?"

Cas turned around in surprise and watched Dean's face. "Of course… Why have you changed your mind?" He tilted his head to the side curiously and narrowed his eyes slightly.

Dean shrugged and winced again. "Dad's letter… he knows, there's no point in staying away." Dean wouldn't tell Cas that he thought something was very wrong, that he wanted more than anything to die in his own country. He could have said something, but then he would have been taken to hospital, and he couldn't handle that. He wasn't going to hospital until he had just a few hours left. Because he did know something was wrong. No matter how he tried to convince himself otherwise, he knew that the infection hadn't just miraculously gone away. He knew that it was going to be serious. Most illnesses were.

Castiel nodded and stroked the hair away from Dean's face. "We'll go home as soon as we can, okay?"

Dean nodded and pulled out his pocket watch to tell the time. "Happy new year," he said quietly, smiling to himself.

"Perhaps the war will be over soon."

"I think it will be… And you know what? I think we're going to win."

"You think so?"

Dean nodded. "Those Nazi bastards are going to pay." He opened his eyes and looked up at Cas, sucking in another breath and coughing slightly.

Castiel frowned and sat next to Dean, kissing his cheek.

"Love you," Dean murmured in a last ditch effort, but Cas said nothing back, just curled his legs onto the couch, wound his arm around Dean and picked his book up from the small table. Dean knew it was a stupid hope. Cas would never love him, _could_ never love him. Perhaps Cas just found the idea of being in love with a man completely revolting. Cas obviously cared for Dean and wanted to be with him, but that was different to love.

Dean cringed to himself and looked away. "How are your parents?" he asked, licked his lips.

Castiel frowned again and made a face, deep in thought. "I uh… I haven't heard from them… Perhaps they never received my letters…" Cas nodded to himself and gave Dean a reassuring smile.

Dean's chest tightened painfully, whether it was from his wound, or Cas' tense expression, he didn't know. "I'm sure they're fine." He rubbed absent-mindedly at his chest and his eyebrows knitted together. "Letters get lost all the time." He reached out to run his fingers through Castiel's hair once before there was a knock on the door. Dean attempted to get up, but Cas forced him to stay and went to answer it himself.

Andrew, Susan and a few people Dean hadn't met before stood on the other side of the door. They pushed their way through with a loud chorus of 'happy new year!' and eyed the two men suspiciously.

One of the unknown men wandered around, peering into Dean and Cas' bedroom. "You share a room?" he asked, disgust apparent in his voice.

Castiel crossed his arms defensively. "There's only the one room in the apartment, we did not choose to live here, and I think you'll find that there are two beds in there."

The man went inside and pulled at the sheets, face draining of colour. "Have either of you had a woman stay with you?" he eyed them suspiciously. "The bedding needs a wash," he spat out, pulling away and moving further away from Castiel.

Dean swallowed a lump in his throat and lifted himself from the couch and into the wheel chair. They hadn't cleaned the sheets in a long time, and Dean had thought he knew what the man had found there. "Yes," he hurried to stay. "One of my friends stayed here just the other night. She was merely visiting."

Cas gave him a frightened look, but the man nodded and seemed to relax a bit.

"You two keep a lot to yourself," he stated.

Cas shrugged and looked at Dean again. "We're still recovering…" He took his stick from its resting place and leaned on it, taking his weight away from his leg.

The man seemed to leave well alone after that and moved to stand behind a tall woman who Dean assumed to be his wife.

Andrew scratched at his head awkwardly turned to see the couple wander back out into the hallway. "Sorry about that, chaps… he… sorry." Andrew went red and Susan made a disapproving tutting sound before ushering the rest of the visitors from the room.

Castiel shut the door behind them and let out a shaky sigh.

"What the Hell was that about!?" Dean's stomach churned and he wheeled over to Cas.

"They know… Everyone knows… they must!" Cas kept Dean still and straddled his lap, staring into his eyes with a worried look.

Dean nodded and pulled Cas into a hug, ignoring his pains. "I think they've… probably guess," he panted out, pressing a kiss to Cas' neck.

"What's wrong with us?"

"Nothing."

"Are you sure?" Cas bit his lip and shut his eyes.

Dean smiled sadly and tucked a curling strand of hair behind the man's ear. "No," he said honestly. "But let's just pretend that I am." He kissed Cas until he could hardly breathe (which wasn't a very long time), and pressed their foreheads together.

"Dean… What's wrong with you? I'm supposed to be taking care of you, but you won't tell me what is wrong." Cas reached out and slid Dean's suspenders from his shoulders in order to unbutton Dean's shirt. Surprisingly, it was only at this point that Cas realised how cold Dean had been. Before then, he'd merely assumed that it was due to the temperature outside, and the lack of heating in their small apartment, but now he realised it was something else.

Dean himself had hardly noticed the extreme cold of his skin. He'd been feeling too cold, but again, had refused to mention it.

Cas pulled the shirt away and sucked in a breath. Instead of just being red, the wound had become swollen again, and there was a little bit of blood leaking from it, despite the stitching. "Dean…."

Dean pushed Cas' hands away took a shaky, wheezing breath. "It's nothing," he gasped out, forcing Cas away and wheeling himself towards their bedroom. "I'm going to sleep."

* * *

Dean woke to a rain of bullets, each one digging deep into him as he pushed himself up from the sand. The world seemed to spin and he was in a bed. Part of him remembered that it was /his/ bed, but his mind was still at Omaha beach. Dean reached under his pillow, looking for a gun. His heart sped up, aching in his chest and his hand grasped at the air. When he sat up, he was shaking, sweating and shivering all at once. Then his eyes settled on a familiar face and confusion hit him like a wave. Dean let out a spluttering cough and shuddered, reaching out a hand blindly.  
Cas moved from the doorway, limping to get to Dean's side. "Dean?"

"Where… What…. I…" Dean took hold of Castiel's arm and stared at him, wide eyed in child-like fear.

Cas shushed him and rubbed circles on his back. "You're okay, Dean."

Dean frowned before shutting his eyes and piecing everything together. It was more than just a leftover daze and terror from his dream, it was different. Dean sighed and took a heaving breath, leaning into Cas as the pieces fell back into place.

After a few more minutes, Dean managed to drag himself from his bed and walk outside to get something to eat.

When Cas left the room, he found Dean standing by the window, staring outside blankly. "Dean?" he asked, voice thick with concern.

Dean jumped and turned to Cas. "What?"

"You were going to get food…"

Dean made a quizzical face and bit his lip. "I was… why was I doing that?"

"You said that you were hungry… You wanted…"

Dean frowned in concentration. "I wanted breakfast."

Cas nodded and reached out to press a hand to Dean's forehead. "Dean, are you okay?" Cas' voice shook slightly.

Dean's mind felt like it had gone blank. He opened his mouth, but could hardly remember how to form words. His tongue felt thick in his mouth and his head pounded. "I was going to get food… I heard something outside… Went to look," he finally stammered out, putting a hand to his head. Dean's heart stuttered intermittently in his chest, speeding up and slowing down in a way that caused the man's chest to ache. He leaned sideways against the wall and started to slip.

Castiel quickly got Dean's chair and helped him lower himself into it. "I'll get you food, okay?" Cas pressed a soft kiss to the top of Dean's head.

Dean took a deep breath and nodded, watching Castiel walk away as the blank pieces slotted back into his mind, wobbling loosely in place and threatening to slip away again. His stomach ached and he felt sick, but he forced the feeling away as he did every other worry. He was _not_ going to hospital. He wouldn't even let Cas take him there without kicking and screaming. He really, _really_ hated hospitals. Dean rubbed at his head and shut his eyes, groaning as it ached and his chest started burning.

Cas watched him for a while, his own heart thudding in his chest. He was scared, almost more so than he had been sitting in the cold water with people falling down dead around him. Something was wrong with Dean and that was tearing at him. What was worse was the fact the Dean wasn't talking about it. Dean didn't even mention the pain, and that made Cas feel useless. Castiel chewed at his lip and remembered Dean saying 'I love you.' Surely he couldn't mean it. Dean was sick, and he was saying things without thinking or meaning it. That's what Cas told himself. He couldn't say it back. He'd tried. He'd tried to force the words out, but he couldn't. They felt right when he thought them, but when he went to actually say them out loud, his cheeks burned and his tongue refused to form any words at all. Castiel slowly went about getting some food for Dean, and when he went back over, he received a confused, terrified look.

"Is the whether going to be good enough for the attack to go ahead?" Dean asked seriously, voice all determined and full of authority, completely contradicting the look in his eyes.

Cas felt something inside of him breaking and he reached out to place a hand against Dean's cheek. "Yes, Captain," he said softly, setting the food down and taking a deep breath, feeling tears stinging at his eyes.

Was Dean going insane? Had the effects of seeing so many people die, finally caught up with him? Dean blinked a few times and his mouth popped open. "Cas?" his voice came out in a whisper. "Cas, you should have stayed behind. You were injured. We stayed still for too long. We would have been okay, if you'd just stayed behind."

Castiel felt like he'd been slapped in the face. He'd been told by Dean not to blame himself once, and now it seemed as though that same man was pinning it on him. It was Cas' fault. He'd forced them to stop, hadn't done what Dean had asked. Now Dean was paying that price. Cas wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and took a deep breath. "You're going to okay, Dean," he said, though he knew that he was lying.

Dean was refusing help, and would continue to do so.

Cas knew that if Dean didn't get the medical attention that he needed, he was going to die.


	12. Losing

Confused, struggling to breathe, wheezing, pains, sweating, panting, bleeding from newly formed rashes. Cas couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand watching it. He'd tried. He really had tried to ignore it, and respect Dean's wishes. He couldn't do it any more. He couldn't just sit by and watch Dean fall apart, dying.

Dean was dying. He refused to acknowledge it, but the moments when he actually knew what was going on, were becoming few and far between. Dean was dying, and he was okay with that. The only thing he regretted was not getting home. He was scared, sure, but he'd fought for his country, fallen in love, survived a war, and dying from some stupid infection didn't seem like such a bad option. He had tried to explain it to Castiel, but Cas had just sent him a glare and stayed in silence.

Castiel couldn't let Dean do that to himself. He tried to convince the man that he had lots of time left, many things he needed to do, needed to see, people who needed him.

Dean was slumped in his chair, staring out the window at the grey sky, frowning to himself as he struggled to remember what he'd been on his way to do.

Cas moved up to him, stroking his fingers through the man's hair as he pulled the chair back, wheeling it slowly.

Dean's head snapped around. "What are you doing?"

"Taking you to get some help," Castiel whispered, voice hesitant and calm.

"Where from?"

"Just someone."

Dean relaxed and nodded, too tired, too pained to argue.

Castiel wheeled him into the hospital a while after, calling out for help and struggling to explain Dean's condition to a doctor who was busily trying to get some sort of medication together for another patient. "Listen to me!" Cas roared, heaving Dean out of his chair and supporting his weight. "He needs help."

The doctor finally paid them attention, scowling and eying Dean closely.

Dean tried to pull away. "No," he whispered. "No, no, no, no, no! Cas, I said no!"

Cas pushed him forward. "Please, Dean, you need this."

"No, I don't. I need to go home, and die in my bed with Sammy by my side, I do _not_ need this!"

The doctor sighed and called a few nurses over. Together, they pried Dean away from Cas and pinned him to a bed, strapping down his arms and legs.

Cas squeezed his eyes shut, feeling sick with himself. He wasn't respecting Dean's wishes. He was doing exactly what Dean had asked him not to do. And he was standing by, doing nothing, and forcing him into this.

"Castiel, please!" Dean screamed, voice scratchy and panicked. He gasped for air before the doctors made him fall unconscious.

Cas winced and stood perfectly still as Dean was unstrapped and carted off to a more permanent bed. He was told to wait, and eventually collapsed in a chair, looking around at the hospital in disgust. It really wasn't a nice place. He looked around and hoped that Dean was going to be okay, that he would be fixed up, that he would be better than ever. He hoped, and he prayed to the god he'd almost stopped believing in. It was the first time he'd prayed since Omaha.

Castiel was told when the doctors and nurses were through with Dean, when they'd examined him and done all they could. He was let through, into the wing that had around 10 other beds crammed in. Castiel found Dean's bed and pulled the curtains around it. He sat in the uncomfortable seat next to the man and held onto his hand, watching Dean sleep.

He seemed sickly pale, waxy skinned, unhealthy. His chest rose and fell erratically and  
his skin had gone from being freezing cold to burning hot. He moaned uneasily in his forced sleep and his grip tightened pathetically on Cas' hand. It was so different to the usual tight grip,and strong hands that belonged to Dean Winchester.

Cas just stared at him, tears welling up, but refusing to spill over. He stared at his Captain, his Dean, the man he'd first met with confidence in his eyes and a smug smile permanently glued to his face. "It's okay, Dean," he whispered. "I'm here."

He held onto Dean's hand for that whole night, and the next day, only letting go when nurses came in. They wouldn't approve. In fact, they would be disgusted, as everyone was.

In the middle of the next day, Dean woke, feverish. He felt the hand in his, and knew immediately who it was. "Cas?" he whispered weakly without opening his eyes.

Castiel tightened his grip, shaking the hand slightly in confirmation as he murmured yeses. "I'm right here, what is it?"

Dean let out a small cough and groaned. "I want to go home." His voice remained a whisper. "I want to see Dad and Sammy again."

Cas nodded and kissed the hand. "You'll go home, Dean. I promise you will… You're going to see your family again." Cas thought of his own family. Were they still alive? Were they getting any of his letters? Had they just not bothered to reply? Did they prefer living without their youngest son?

"Cas, can we go now?"

"Yes, Dean. As soon as you wake up a bit more. You can't go home if you're all sleepy." He sighed and kissed Dean's hand again.

Dean finally opened his eyes, blinking up at Castiel blearily, wincing against the dull light that assaulted his eyes. He tried his best to tug on Cas' hand and pull him over, but wouldn't have succeeded if it hadn't been for Cas nodding and leaning in. "I don't think I'm catching," he croaked out before pulling Cas into a tired, careful kiss.

Cas kissed him back gently, one hand playing with the growing hair comfortingly. He wished he could make this easier for Dean. He wished he could make everything okay again. He wished that his Captain would come back to him properly, become that strong, confident man once again.

It was at the moment that a nurse decided to come visiting. A nice, young nurse who had done everything she could to make Dean comfortable. She pulled back the curtain and let out an audible gasp, standing stock still, frozen as she watched the two men.

Cas heard her and hastily pulled back, eyes widening.

Dean was too tired to know what was going on, so he just sunk back into his pillow and shut his eyes, hand reaching out and searching for Cas'. "Love you," he murmured.

Cas stared at the young woman, mouth falling open and giving him a look of innocence and fear. He could feel something breaking inside of him. He knew that this was going to change things. He looked back at Dean and defiantly took his hand.  
The nurse turned and skidded away, pulling the curtain closed. The shrill sound of her voice could be heard from quite a distance away.

Cas crumpled, shoulders slumping, heart dropping, stomach churning, eyes burning. He had to move. He had to get out. He dropped Dean's hand and raced out, feeling sick to his stomach. He left the hospital. He left Dean. He ran out, leg twitching painfully as he forced himself into a sprint. He needed the cold air to slap into his face. He needed something to force him out of the nightmare, tell him it wasn't real. He found himself stumbling into the apartment, bile rising as he looked around and saw how blatantly obvious it all was. Two men living together, in the one room, was hardly trying to hide it.

Cas collapsed on the couch, sweating, shivering and staring up the roof, watching as it rippled dizzily. He let the tears go then. He couldn't hold them back. He was wrong. The look on that young nurse's face was one of disgust. She was disgusted. Castiel wasn't natural. He was a freak, some weird thing that was never meant for this world. He'd known it all along, really. He'd known that he was wrong. He just hadn't had the courage to admit it to himself.

There was a light knock at the door and Andrew's voice floated under it, but Cas ignored it, crying silently as he willed himself to get better. If he was sick, then he could be cured.

He stayed like that until the next morning, when, after only an hour's sleep, Cas hauled himself out of the apartment and back to the hospital.

He stepped through the door, flooding his senses with the chemicals and the beeps and the dying. At some point, he had decided that even though he was certain it was wrong, he still had feelings for Dean, and he couldn't leave him all alone in a place he never wanted to be in the first place.

A doctor came up to him. "I'm sorry, Sir, we cannot let you through." His tone was icy, commanding. He held out a hand to stop Cas from passing.

"I'm here to see Captain Dean Winchester," Cas said quietly.

"Captain Winchester is not receiving visitors."

"I was here yesterday."

"No exceptions."

"Why not?" Cas felt himself deflating.

The doctor almost grimaced, avoiding Castiel's gaze and swallowing visible. "It's unhygienic," he hissed. "It's not right. _You_ will not see him."

Cas felt like he'd been punched in the gut and hit over the head at the same time. He felt like the hole in his leg had been poked back open and the healed graze at his side was being grazed all over again. His fears filled his mind, clouded his thoughts, and made it difficult to see. He could hardly breathe, a strange mixture of shame, disgust, anger, love and fear forcing its way down his throat strangling his heart.

"You are not welcome here." From behind the doctor, the young nurse from the day before piped up, playing nervously with the hat sitting on her head.

Castiel burst, tears of anger streaming down his cheeks as he marched forwards anyway. He was caught, held back, arms twisted painfully. More and more people rushed to pin him down, throw him out, but he kept going. He kicked and he punching and he screamed until his throat was raw. He didn't care if he was wrong, if he was… unhygienic. He didn't care if he was a freak, if he was unnatural.

Dean needed him.

Cas felt a sharp blow to the side of his head and the world spun around him. His leg gave out as a foot collided with it and both legs fell limp. They were dragged under him, and he watched them as though they belonged to someone else. They didn't seem like his legs. Castiel let out an involuntary groan as he was tossed to the ground, palms scratching painfully against the dirt. "I need to see him!" he tried shouting again. He tried to scramble up, up slipped, landing with a dull thud before he pushed himself back into a sitting position. "I love him," he whimpered, coughing up the dust he had inhaled and staggering to his feet.

Another blow came to his stomach and he was forced back down. "Don't ever come here again," came an angry hiss, and Cas blacked out.

When he came to, his face was pushed to the dirt, the dirt was in his eyes, up his nose, and he was breathing it in. He sat up groggily and stared blankly at the closed hospital doors before the dust tickled at his throat and he spluttered, coughing until his eyes watered and pushed the dust away, turning it into mud as it trailed down his cheeks. One he was done coughing, he just cried. It was silent, not begging for attention, but genuine tears of complete and utter agony.

He had a feeling of loss crushing down on him, weighing on him so heavily that he could hardly breathe. Castiel knew that he had lost Dean. He knew that it was unlikely Dean would ever leave that hospital.

Dean would never go home.

* * *

**Note: **In case you've been wondering, Dean got Sepsis. I probably didn't get all the details quite right, but I don't think that particularly matters... I mean, I did do research, so I can't be that far off.

I made myself sad...


	13. Given Rest

There was a procession. There was a flag. There was a little stone with a kind engraving on it. There was a photograph of him, smiling slightly at the camera, adjusting his hat on his head. There was soft, solemn music, a choir of brass instruments trumpeting in a celebration of his life. There were two men standing together, away from the crowed.

One had long hair, was tall and kind of gangly. He was crying, his tears making him look like nothing more than a child. He wiped furiously at his eyes as he squinted at the casket, with its multitude of badges and little coloured flags, the blue and grey badge.

The other man was older, scruffy beard growing on his chin. He looked close to tears as well, but it was obvious that he wasn't going to let himself go like that. He looked far too serious to cry. He held himself straight, like a soldier, his eyes clouded and serious. This wasn't the first funeral he'd been to. He looked to the younger man, slowly reaching out to rest a hand comfortingly on his shoulder.

The young man looked to his father in surprise, leaning into the touch and drying his eyes. He looked around at the other people crowded around the coffin. The furrowing of his eyebrows made him look like he was trying to pick out familiar faces. Did he recognise these people? Had they fought by his brother's side? Had Dean met them in England? How many of them actually knew him? The young man looked towards Castiel.

Cas hurried to look away, back to the cheerful photograph of his best friend, his love. His cheeks burned and his jaw clenched. More than one pair of eyes was on him. Some of these people must have known about him and Dean. He shook the thought away and moved a little closer, so that he could see Dean's face, frozen in a smirk as one hand gripped onto the rim of his fedora. Frozen in a picture. It was a much nicer vision than the one undoubtedly present beneath the lid of the casket. Frozen, picture Dean, was probably nothing at all like the body that everyone had gathered to see off.

The body was probably all raw, red and scabbed over, with large swellings in strange places, obscuring the man's delicate features, smoothing out his frown lines in unnatural ways. No matter how much they tried to clean him up, preserve his dignity, his illness had destroyed too much of what had once been a handsome, strong man.

Castiel hadn't seen him. The stupid war was still raging on, and Cas hadn't even gone home with Dean. He'd gone home as soon as he'd heard the news. He knew Dean's body would be shipped home. He was an important person, not just some random civilian. Cas hadn't shed a tear. He couldn't do it. Even standing by the coffin, with its pretty flowers and decorations, he couldn't quite wrap his head around what was going on. He had got over the state of denial, and moved onto shock, staring at the hole in the ground with blank, emotionless eyes, watching at the casket was lowered into it.

"Are you…. Are you Castiel?" a voice sounded in Cas' ear, sad, tired, and kind.

Cas' head snapped up and he stared at the young man with wide eyes and his childishly innocent look. He tried to say yes, but his words caught in his throat and he let out a nervous cough, clearing it. He settled for nodding and bit down on his lip.

The young man offered a hand to shake. "I'm Sam. Dean's brother." He tried for a smile, but Cas could see the agony in his eyes.

Cas winced at Dean's name, eyes narrowing involuntarily in a quick motion, and widening again just as quickly. If someone had been watching him through the ceremony, they would have thought he had a nervous tick, but it was just that the mention of Dean's name from the lips of strangers, came to Cas like a stab wound, deep and deliberate, piercing into him again and again and again.

Sam raised an eyebrow quizzically, looking down at his extended hand.

Castiel shook it, eyes wide and void of anything but pain. "How do you know my name?" He asked, voice struggling to get above a whisper.

"Dean wrote to me. He told me…" Sam blushed. "He told me as much as was necessary. I respect my brother's… choices." It was clear that Sam was a bit awkward about the situation, and he was trying his best not to offend Castiel in any way. "Cas, I don't get it, but I respect my brother, and he… loved you. So… It's nice to meet you."

Cas stared in shock. He hadn't been aware of any correspondence between the two brothers. He hadn't been aware that Dean had told anyone about their relationship. "I… I uh… It…" Cas look away and held his hands behind his back, straightening his posture to make himself feel taller next to the tall man. "Thank you, Sam." He couldn't say anything else, and watched Sam silently as he nodded and moved back to find some other people in the crowd. Castiel stumbled slightly, leaning back against the tree that cast its shadow over the grave site.

The coffin was lowered, words were spoken, another blast of mournful trumpeting was sounded, and slowly, the crowds of people broke away, moving off to do more important things. This left Sam and his father standing by the grave, smooth, black suits standing out amongst the green of the grass and the white of the flowers that was growing like a blanket over each of the graves.

Castiel left them. Standing by and watching felt like an invasion of privacy. Cas somehow found his way back to his old house, where his parents were waiting, clad in black, with welcoming arms and a cup of tea to cheer up their son. As far as they knew, Cas was sad about losing a friend, a man who had fought side by side with him.

His parents had never received the letter from Castiel, and had been left wondering whether he had been killed in action or something just as bad. They had not left Cas alone for days after his return, and though they meant well, they were smothering him.  
Despite this, Castiel was glad to see them after the funeral. He'd needed someone familiar he could rely on to act as though nothing was wrong. He knew that his parents would be there, ready to do anything, but would try their best not to act too sad, or act like Castiel was different.

Cas excused himself as soon as he could, and made his way up to the room he had only recently reclaimed as his own, only after a little argument with his parents about living on his own. Cas collapsed on the bed that was much more comfortable than the bed or mattress of the little apartment in England, but was also much more lonely without someone to share it with. He didn't fall asleep, but he shut his eyes and pretended he was in dome dream world.

Cas went back the next day. He wanted to be with what was left of Dean. He wanted to be there alone, so he went early, just as the sun was peaking over the tree tops, flooding the world with a cold, yellow blanket of light. The grave had been filled in to hide the smooth wood of the coffin, and Dean's picture was propped up against the somewhat lazy headstone. Cas stood by the small rock, to the side of the slightly darker patch of earth, running his fingers over the engraved letters.

_Here lies Cpt. Dean Winchester._

Fallen soldier, loving son, brother and friend.

1918 -1945

'The Lord hath given him rest from all his enemies.' - 11 Samuel 7:1

It wasn't nearly kind enough. The simple message, with its facts was so heartless, so lacking emotion, that Castiel felt sick. He knelt by the grave, not caring if his pants got all covered in dirt. He knelt there, one hand pressed to the stone, the other, digging into the dirt as though it could bring him closer to Dean. He hunched his shoulders and tipped his head forwards, shutting his eyes, trying to block out the world around him

"Omaha beach seems like years and years ago, doesn't it?" he whispered to no one. "Just last June we were on that boat together, smiling and wishing for the best." He slowly trailed one finger tip over the indent that was Dean's name. "We never saw this coming, did we? You thought you were going to go out on that beach, running through the mud, doing something ridiculously brave. I never wanted to be there in the first place… I honestly thought I'd be one of the first to go, but you didn't let that happen." He took a shuddering breath. "Though this is hardly the most desirably ending… I wouldn't trade it for the world." He opened his eyes. "I loved you, Dean. I still love you…" He scrambled to his feet and shook himself out. He'd thought that would make him feel better, but it only succeeded in tearing painfully at the growing hole in his chest.  
Cas had believed in God once. Did he still believe in God? That was a complicated question. Growing up as Castiel had, it was difficult to just throw his beliefs out the window, but if God existed, how could he let that happen? How could he have let Dean, and all those other brave, honourable men die?

Castiel looked up towards the sky. "I trusted you," he whispered. He had. He had trusted that God would guide him, tell him what to do, give him a sign. Instead, God had left him in a suffocating room with no light to show the way, and two equally unhelpful voices pulling him in two different directions. "I trusted you, you bastard!" He shouted. "What do I do?" he voice faltered and he lashed out, kicking at the gravestone. He would have shouted some more, cursed some more, but tears clogged up his throat and he choked on his words.

He stayed there for some time, sobbing and staring down at the neatly carved name on the stone. "Why didn't I tell him?" he asked himself in a voice that would have been inaudible to anyone nearby. He felt his knees wobbling and the hole in his leg started aching. He'd been standing still for too long.

Castiel sighed and bent to touch the small stone one last time before turning and limping back out through row upon row of white blanketed graves. He got out onto the small street, and he paused, looking around. He was lost. He knew exactly where he was, but he couldn't for the life of him remember which way lead to home. He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his coat, adjusted Dean's old hat on his head and made a quick, thoughtless decision.

Two hours later, Cas could still be found, wandering the streets aimlessly, a blank face masking his pain, eyes glistening with tears that refused to break their barriers again, feet aching and making his limp more pronounced. At some point, he'd just given up. He hadn't recognised any of the streets he'd walked through, played on as a child, and so he'd just stopped caring. Nothing felt the same, everything was different, and Castiel was lost in it all. Lost, and alone.

* * *

**Author's Note: **That's it. That's the end. So, thank you all very much for reading this, I didn't know where it was going until it got there. Thanks for sticking with me, all those wonderful reviews and all that jazz. I do hope I didn't break you too much... Hope you guys like it! See you whenever I get another idea! ^_^ (feel free to suggest a new fic if you want. I have no current ideas).


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